Sphere of Influence
by Orodruin
Summary: A personal matter can never stay personal forever. Voldemort wreaks havoc, Kakashi struggles to find balance between his duty and protecting his brother, Harry tries not to get involved, and being declared AWOL is the least of their troubles. APM Sequel.
1. A Prominent Choice

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: After many gruelling months battling it out in the Supreme Court... I can safely say that I still don't own _Harry Potter_ or _Naruto_.

Well, I'm back! And here it is, the long anticipated sequel to _A Personal Matter_. I hope you alfl enjoy it, I'm a little nervous about seeing how this matches up to people's expectations, since I've never written a sequel to anything before. But I think you'll like it, I do, at least.

If you haven't read _A Personal Matter_, I suggest you read that first. If you don't want to, for some reason, then just accept the fact that Harry Potter is the son of Lily Potter and Hatake Sakumo and has been living with Hatake Kakashi since the Dursleys were killed when he was six years old.

As always, if you have questions or comments (and would actually like a response), make sure you're either logged in or include an e-mail at which I can reach you. Also, no complaints will be taken seriously if there's no way for me to respond to them. Obviously, I've put a lot of thought into this story. You might not understand or agree with certain decisions I've made, but I'm willing to share my reasoning with anyone who cares to ask.

Chapter 2 will be up in about two weeks--check my profile for details on updates. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1 – A Prominent Choice

Narrowed green eyes stared through the panel of glass separating him from the world outside. He ignored everything around him—even the boy who sat next to him, calling his name several times before finally giving up and turning to the pair behind them for conversation.

His entire focus was on the four figures he could see walking down the road—it was significant, he knew, that they were headed towards the village gates.

The man in front was obviously a Jounin. The green flak jacket and navy uniform identified him as such. The ten-year-old didn't particularly care about him, though.

Two children scampered at his heels, a boy with dark green hair and a girl with brown hair pulled back in a pony tail. The girl was grinning cheekily at something the boy must have said, and both of them turned to spy on the smaller boy trailing behind them.

It was he that the green eyes focused on, as well. The ten-year-old frowned at the small, black-haired boy following his team at a relaxed pace. The hitai-ate around his head marked him as a shinobi—a Genin—and green eyes glared at him fiercely.

All of a sudden, the Genin's head turned, and black eyes met with green. The Genin's expression was cool and uncaring and the ten-year-old's eyes narrowed further because of it, glowering out the window.

"Hatake Harii!"

The boy's head shot around at his teacher's shout, and a slight flush rose to his cheeks as the children around him laughed. He quickly glanced out the window again, but the other boy was already gone.

Harry slowly relaxed his hands, noticing they'd curled into fists at some point. He stood, unobtrusively wiping sweaty palms on his black pants as he did so.

"Hustle, Hatake, we don't have all day," the man sighed in irritation.

"Yes, Kenji-sensei," Harry muttered, hurrying down the steps to the door the man stood beside. At the man's gesture, he quickly slipped through.

Kenji followed after him, sliding the door shut and crossing the room to join a second Chuunin on the other side of the single desk. Neither of them spoke.

Harry's hands formed fists at his sides again. This was it—he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't graduate this year.

"Please perform the Henge no Jutsu," Kenji directed, eyes on the sheet of paper in front of him and tone bored.

Last year the entire shinobi body had taken notice when Uchiha Itachi graduated—the youngest Genin since Harry's own brother. Harry, two years Itachi's senior and a Hatake to boot, had not.

"_You're good,"_ the Jounin who would have been his mentor had told him after announcing his team would have to return to the Academy for another year, _"But you're no Uchiha Itachi."_

The ten-year-old scowled. It was bad enough being measured against his brother—now he was measured against some bratty Uchiha that had managed to pull ahead of him, probably because of his clan's special training.

Jaw set in determination, Harry nimbly fingered through the necessary seals. He could do the transformation, no problem. The only question was who to transform into. It had to be someone easily recognizable, of course, and his first choices would be his brother or the Sandaime Hokage. But he looked too alike Kakashi for that to make an impressive demonstration, and the Sandaime was one they practiced often in class. It would be expected.

With a tiny smirk, Harry completed the last hand seal, "**Henge no Jutsu!**"

He released his chakra and a small cloud of smoke momentarily obscured his vision—hiding his body while the transformation took place.

When the smoke cleared, he stood proudly, watching the two teachers expectantly, eager to see their reactions.

Kenji raised an eyebrow and scribbled something down on his paper. "Interesting choice," the man muttered.

The second man looked up at him before adding, "I think he made him a little too tall."

Harry scowled.

Kenji frowned at him contemplatively, "I don't know... it looks pretty accurate to me."

The other man snorted, "You were only a Genin back then, so you probably didn't interact with him much."

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes—he shouldn't have picked that man after all.

Both men stared at him thoughtfully for a while longer.

"Do one more, Harii," Kenji ordered at length, then jerked his thumb at the other teacher, "Henge into Tsukata-sensei."

Harry nodded, pushing down his annoyance that they couldn't even recognize the _Fourth Hokage_—had it really been that long since he'd died?—and formed the seals again.

* * *

With no small amount of self-satisfaction, Harry smiled down at the hitai-ate in his hands. He was only one step behind him now, and there was nothing to stop him from passing the final exam this year. No Uchiha Itachi he would have to surpass. Not that he _wouldn't_ surpass him. Harry had plans to demonstrate his superiority over the younger boy in the most public way possible.

"I think you're supposed to tie it around your head or something."

The voice chased away his thoughts and Harry looked up, grinning. "Welcome back," he greeted happily, "I wasn't expecting you to come."

The older boy snorted and took the hitai-ate from the ten-year-old's hands, stepping close to position it on his forehead and tie it around the back.

"Well, I missed it last year," the teen mused as he worked. Finishing, he took a step back, "Besides, this year I think it's there to stay."

Harry scowled—if it hadn't been for Uchiha Itachi, he would've graduated last year.

"_It's not that Uchiha Itachi went above you,"_ Kakashi had told him afterwards, in what Harry assumed to be a poor attempt at comforting him, _"It's just that Uchiha Itachi is on another level from you. He's a prodigy."_

Of course, Itachi hadn't been the only one to graduate last year. He'd simply been the only one to graduate _early_ last year. The normal graduation age had gone back up to eleven last year, and was predicted to rise to twelve in another year or two.

As though reading his thoughts, Tenzou spoke, "You know, if they let every young upstart graduate early, the shinobi ranks would be full of a bunch of obnoxious kids."

"Are you calling me an obnoxious kid?" Harry demanded with mostly faked defensiveness.

The teen smiled. "Hardly," he replied, "I'm calling Uchiha Itachi an obnoxious kid. Have you seen how he looks at people? Like he honestly thinks he's better than us or something—just because he graduated a few years early." He sighed, "What a brat."

Harry grinned, feeling better already, "The teachers all think he's so great, though. It's annoying."

"He's just the same as any other Genin, if you ask me," Tenzou stated boldly, "Just because he's younger doesn't make him any more skilled." He frowned at Harry, "Remember that when you pick up your first mission. Just because you graduated early doesn't make you any more of a Genin. You're still weaker than everyone else out here."

Harry scowled. "You didn't have to go _that_ far," he grumbled. Sometimes it could really be a pain having a best friend who was four years older.

Tenzou grinned unrepentantly.

Harry's scowl disappeared as he glanced around, "Have you seen Kakashi?"

"Hmm?" Tenzou asked, glancing around as though Harry might miss his tall, white-haired brother in the crowd. "I haven't seen him. He's probably on a mission."

"Probably," Harry agreed glumly. He shouldn't be surprised, though—Kakashi hadn't shown up to last year's graduation ceremony, either.

"Oh—there's your teacher," Tenzou said abruptly, watching the door as the two teachers stepped out after their last student.

Harry sighed, "Not this again. They'll spout all that nonsense about being proud of us and how we're a merit to Konoha again." He scowled, crossing his arms, "We haven't even passed the final test yet and they always act like it's such a big deal."

Tenzou shook his head in mock dismay, "My, my, Harii-kun, when did you become so cynical? This is supposed to be a celebration, you know. At least smile."

The younger boy smiled on reflex and rolled his eyes, "Come on, Tenzou, let's go celebrate at Ikeida's."

* * *

Harry learned a lot in just his first week of being a Genin. The day they were divided into teams, Harry learned that he wasn't the only one who saw the _genius_ Uchiha Itachi as a rival and annoyance—both of his teammates felt the same way.

The day their teacher tested them, Harry learned that Mesu Migaki, a wide-shouldered boy with short, sandy-blond hair, would never accept that a kid more than a year younger than him could possibly know more about being a Genin than he did. They almost failed the test because of it.

Harry wasn't willing to fail again, though, so he'd pushed down his pride and gone along with Migaki's poorly thought-out plan in the hopes that they could make it work together. In the end, none of them were able to retrieve a bell, but their teacher passed them for showing teamwork. Ironic—Harry thought—as they weren't exactly the ideal team.

He also learned that Sakan Inaho, his second teammate, a boy with shaggy brown bangs and a nervous temperament, wasn't going to be of any use as a shinobi. Inaho followed whoever seemed stronger, and didn't seem to have a strong grasp of even the most basic principles of shinobi life.

Harry still liked him better than Migaki.

The day they were assigned their first mission, Harry learned that as recent graduates they were expected to be complete idiots without even the most basic of shinobi skills—Inaho would fit right in.

Their teacher, a short, stocky man with a head of dark fuzz, drilled them on the same activities they'd done in the Academy, and the missions they were assigned were simple chores that any competent civilian could do—several were things he remembered doing for the Dursleys when he was only five years old, but Harry pushed those memories away as well as he could.

It was still better than the Academy, Harry decided, as he didn't have to waste his evenings studying text books anymore, but only barely. Their afternoons were spent replacing the targets at the Academy, sanding splinters from the benches in the park, chasing a little girl's escaped parakeet, or other things equally mundane.

Inaho seemed to thrive on the simple work, and started cracking jokes and making lame puns to pass the time. Migaki seemed to be as annoyed with the chores as Harry, and was very verbal in his complaints, claiming his talent was being wasted.

Harry kept Tenzou's comment in mind and stayed quiet, grudgingly doing his share of the work because he knew Uchiha Itachi had started out this way, too. Everyone started out this way, from the class clowns to the prodigies.

That didn't stop him from glowering when he returned home from a particularly tedious afternoon spent getting rid of the gophers in Tazanuki-san's yard to find his brother had finally completed his last mission.

The teen had a knowing look in his eyes and amusement in his voice when he asked how Harry liked being a contributing member of Konoha's society.

Harry had dirt smudged on his face and sores on his hands from the heavy tools they'd had to use. "We spent the last three hours digging up _gophers_," he supplied dryly, expression sour, "Why do they even give us these kinds of missions?"

Even though Kakashi was wearing his standard cloth mask, Harry could tell he was smirking by the barely contained amusement in his voice. "People don't have time to do them themselves, so they want to hire ninja to do it for them," he replied easily, "The village needs the money, so it accepts the requests and gives those jobs to the shinobi with the least experience. Besides, it's a good opportunity to see how the teams will behave together."

Harry, of course, knew that—or had guessed something like it, so he let his anger slide away and collapsed on the couch, across from his brother, "Yeah, yeah… How long until we get a real mission?"

Kakashi shrugged, idly scratching the head of the small, sleeping pug draped limply across his lap, "Depends on the team. Most teams are assigned their first C-Ranked mission after a month or so."

Harry tried to imagine doing menial tasks like this every day for the next three weeks and almost despaired. The missions themselves he could stand, but he wasn't sure if he could take three more weeks of his teammates' behavior.

"Harii," Kakashi started, breaking the ten-year-old out of his thoughts several minutes later—which was just as well as they'd turned from self-pitying to ways he could get back at Inaho and Migaki by irritating them as much as they'd done to him.

The older boy didn't continue, though, and Harry glanced at him with a small frown. Kakashi didn't talk a lot, but he usually didn't stop in the middle of saying something, either.

At last, the older boy continued, voice unusually awkward, "Sorry I missed your graduation."

Harry blinked, then shrugged, "That's okay—Tenzou came."

Kakashi fell silent again, although Harry thought it seemed like there was more he wanted to say.

"… Congratulations," the seventeen-year-old said at last, "On making Genin."

Harry smiled—it wasn't often that his older brother praised him, "Thanks."

"Don't start getting arrogant, now," the teen said with a snort, "You still have a ways to go before you'll be anything more than a rookie."

Harry didn't have a chance to protest the remark because something was tossed in his direction and he was too distracted for a moment to say anything. Bemused, Harry sorted through the fabric bundle he'd caught and held it up for inspection. His eyes widened in surprise, "It's a mask!"

He looked up to find his brother pointedly not looking at him—instead, the older boy's dark eye was locked on the dozing dog in his lap as he scratched its ear, "Obviously."

Harry flushed a little, "I mean, like yours! It's…"

"A tradition," Kakashi supplied dryly, his hand finally stilling, although he still didn't look at his brother, "It's stupid, anyway. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to."

"Are you kidding?!" Harry demanded incredulously, immediately reaching up to pull off his hitai-ate, giving him enough room to pull the mask over his face—it smeared a smudge of dirt across his forehead. The boy spent a minute adjusting it awkwardly, and when he didn't think he could find a more comfortable position, he retied his forehead protector and looked at his brother expectantly. "So?" He asked as the teen stared at him dully with one, half-lidded eye, "How do I look?"

Kakashi continued to stare at him for a moment before his eye curved slightly with a smile, "Silly."

Harry's mouth dropped open in surprise and indignation, stretching the mask strangely. "Silly?!" He repeated incredulously, the word oddly muffled by his new mask. It was weird enough that Kakashi had even _said_ that word at all, but at a time like _this_?! The teen wasn't paying him attention any more, returning to the petting of his dog once more.

"Oi! What do you mean silly?" Harry demanded unhappily, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

The teen looked across at him lazily, "Hmm… how do I say this in a way you'll understand…?"

Harry frowned at him, crossing his arms indignantly.

Kakashi nodded as though just coming to a decision. "That mask," he enunciated clearly, "Looks ridiculous on you, Harii-san."

"But—it does not!" Harry argued, "You're just… Why?"

"What do you think a shinobi wears a mask for, Harii?" Kakashi questioned idly, looking away again.

Harry blinked, then frowned, "That's obvious, isn't it? To hide his face."

"For what purpose?" Kakashi pressed.

Harry's frown deepened, "So no one can tell who he is."

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, glancing sidelong at his brother, "Is that so?"

Harry looked up at him and flushed slightly. "Well, it doesn't exactly work when you have other distinctive features," he grumbled—like white hair.

"The mask is a distinction between human and shinobi," Kakashi supplied dryly, "The early Hatake used it as an indication of their purpose. They would wear a mask only when they intended to kill someone, to remove their humanity and make themselves into a faceless weapon. When they removed the mask, they would return to their human selves and forsake the murderer their mask symbolized. Whenever a Hatake was killed, his mask was removed from his body and burned in a ritual meant to cleanse the man's spirit of the shinobi's sins." His father hadn't been wearing a mask when he died—it was impossible to absolve him of that sin. Not that Kakashi believed in the old legend.

Harry stared at him intently, taking his words in. Kakashi rarely spoke about their clan, or the past at all, so on those rare occasions when he did, Harry didn't want to miss a thing.

"The mask," Kakashi continued, "Is used to hide your emotions and make you inhuman." He looked at Harry again, "Even while you wear that mask, your emotions are easy to read in your eyes."

Harry frowned, "But you show emotions with your eyes, Kakashi-niisan."

The teen's eye curved in a smile, "Do I?"

"Yes!" Harry insisted, "Like right now, even!"

"… Not all masks are only what you see on the surface," the Jounin replied enigmatically.

"… What?"

Kakashi ignored his question and pet the dog in silence for several minutes before he spoke again, "Until you can learn to mask the emotions in your eyes, that mask will be nothing more than a ridiculous looking fashion accessory."

Harry frowned thoughtfully, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into when he accepted his hitai-ate.

* * *

It was not encouraging when Harry ran into Tenzou after a mission three days later and the older boy burst out laughing. Inaho had laughed, too, the first day Harry wore his mask on a mission—Migaki had said it was stupid and left it at that. Harry had ignored them because they were always annoying, anyway.

The ten-year-old pulled down his mask and glared until the laughter had simmered down to the occasional chuckle.

"Sorry, sorry," Tenzou apologized flippantly, "It's just… like that…" He nearly laughed again, but covered it with a cough at the murderous expression on the ten-year-old's face. "You look just like Kakashi-senpai when I first met him," Tenzou finished, grinning in amusement, "Or, you would if you tilted your hitai-ate down."

The fourteen-year-old suited actions to words, tugging at the left side of Harry's forehead protector down over his face.

Glowering, the boy shoved it back up. "I do not," he groused, "Niisan's hair sticks up more than mine." As though doubting his own words, Harry quickly flattened down his unruly hair a little, causing his friend to snicker again.

"So, how goes it in the land of Genin?" Tenzou asked casually, starting to walk again.

Harry made a noise of annoyance, "My teammates are horrible," he grumbled.

"You'll get used to them," Tenzou assured him with the air of someone who'd already been down the same road. A distant look crossed his face as he added, "The first time you see them risking their lives for you, that's when you really start to come together."

Harry grunted in understanding, not completely convinced that either of his teammates _would_ stick their necks out for him.

"Are you going to be home for a while?" Harry changed the subject.

The teen shrugged, "Probably. A few days, at least."

Harry wondered when he'd get to go on a mission that lasted several days instead of several hours—when he'd get to actually leave the village for a mission.

"Do you want to go to the training grounds?" Harry asked, because he honestly wasn't able to think of anything else to do.

Tenzou shrugged. "Sure," he agreed easily, turning in that direction. Casually, he continued, "You know, with how much we train together, you should really be calling me sensei."

Harry snorted, "You wish. Besides, Tenzou-sensei sounds stupid."

"I think you mean that it sounds cool," Tenzou corrected mildly.

Harry shot him a look, "That might have worked on me four years ago, but I don't fall for things like that anymore."

"You believed me when I told you to say fascinating instead of disturbing," Tenzou commented, "That wasn't that long ago."

Harry scowled, "You know, a real friend wouldn't try to trick his friends into saying the wrong word."

"Don't blame it on me," Tenzou said, "You're the one gullible enough to believe it."

Harry didn't reply—of course, the only reason he ever believed it was because even after four years of speaking the language, he still occasionally made mistakes. Usually, he knew he'd made a mistake, but Tenzou was good at convincing him he had when he hadn't.

"I'm just trying to build up your confidence," Tenzou said abruptly, "If you're confident enough to know you haven't messed up even when I say you have, then you'll be as good as any native speaker."

Harry didn't buy it for an instant, "You just do it because you think it's funny."

Tenzou shrugged—what could he say to that? It _was_ funny.

* * *

Eventually they were assigned a C-Ranked mission—an easy errand in the southern part of Fire Country where they'd had to escort a wagon of food from a remote farming village that Harry still couldn't remember the name of to a nearby port town. The most exciting part had been when Inaho was almost gored by a wild boar. It was still way better than cutting grass and scrubbing graffiti off walls.

They arrived back at Konoha early in the morning, after five days on the road, and Hitsuya-sensei gave them the rest of the day off. Harry had checked at home, but Kakashi wasn't there—he wasn't surprised. He took a shower and a nap and then headed outside again, to wander aimlessly in the hopes that something would spark his interest.

He paused outside the bookstore, looking through the windows at the newest releases. There was a new Edogawa book and he was considering going in and buying it when someone ran into him.

Harry stumbled slightly, unprepared for it, and turned to his right, hearing a soft, "Oof," accompanying a thump as whoever-it-was landed on the ground.

A smile immediately crossed the ten-year-old's lips when his eyes landed on a small blond child—he tried to smother the smile immediately, schooling his features into an appropriately scolding expression as the tiny boy looked up.

"Uzumaki Naruto," he greeted with pretended disdain, "What are you doing out here by yourself? Yorou-san will chastise you."

The three-year-old—"Almost four!" Naruto had insisted last time he'd commented on his age—didn't even have the decency to look guilty as he allowed the older boy to help him to his feet.

"I saw a neat lizard and followed it," he explained as though it were the most natural thing in the world—but he was three, so maybe it was. "Besides, Yorou-basan doesn't care, I'm big enough to look after myself now! I'm—"

"Almost four," Harry intoned in time with the boy, chuckling as Naruto looked flustered. "Naruto-kun, even four years old isn't old enough to start looking after yourself. You should go back home."

The boy made a face at the idea, and Harry couldn't really blame him—Yorou-san, who'd been looking after the young blond for almost a year now, was an annoying woman with a loud, shrill voice and a tendency to talk perpetually in a condescending manner. Harry felt the temptation to wear earplugs every time he went to visit Naruto. She also had an annoying habit of referring to the ten-year-old as "Kakashi-kun" no matter how many times he reminded her he was _Harry_ and not _Kakashi_.

"Can't I stay with you?" The boy asked, putting on a pout, "You haven't come to visit in a long time!"

Harry scratched the back of his head guiltily—it had been almost two months since he'd seen Naruto last. He hadn't planned on the large gap between visits, but at first he had put it off because of the upcoming graduation tests, and then he'd needed time to settle in with his team, and then things became so busy that he hadn't even thought of it. Before he could relent, he heard a gasp and looked down again.

Naruto had stepped back with one leg and was pointing up at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. "You have one of those forehead protectors!" He shouted, "Lemme see!"

Harry rolled his eyes, but reached back to untie it and pass it down to the child, who held the band in his hands almost reverently as he stared at the symbol carved into the metal plate. Harry felt a bit strange not wearing it—he'd only had it for a little more than a month, but he'd been wearing it every day since then and its current absence felt about as conspicuous as if he'd taken off his shirt.

Naruto looked up at him again, blue eyes wide, "You're a ninja now, Harii-san? Really?"

Harry smiled in confirmation, "Really—now give it back, shrimp."

With some reluctance, the tiny boy held his headband out again and Harry returned it to its proper place.

"Do you do really cool stuff like saving people and stuff?" Naruto asked excitedly.

Harry thought for a moment before offering, "If you want, I'll tell you all about being a ninja over some ramen."

The little boy lit up—Yorou-san made him ramen for dinner if he'd been good during the day, Harry knew, and it had quickly become the impressionable boy's favorite. "Yeah!" He agreed with far too much enthusiasm for such a small body.

Smiling fondly, Harry led the way to Ichiraku's Ramen and put in their orders before giving into Naruto's pleas for a story. And if the wild boar turned into an S-class missing-nin, and the wagon of food turned into a princess riding on an elephant, Harry didn't think it did too much harm.

* * *

Migaki feinted to the right and came at Harry in a low dive, but the ten-year-old flipped over him, spinning around in midair to face him again when he landed. Migaki, still crouched from his landing, threw a pair of kunai in the younger boy's direction, and Harry easily parried with a kunai of his own, knocking them out of the air as he leapt into a kick.

The eleven-year-old rolled out of the way and Harry hit the ground with a spray of dirt, rolling forward to avoid the shuriken his teammate aimed at him.

Fighting Migaki was always interesting because the older boy never seemed to use the same tactics twice in one fight. He wasn't particularly fast or strong—even Harry could beat him in a match of brute strength—but he was unpredictable. Unfortunately for him, Harry caught on to his style quickly, and was learning to guess at his teammate's odd moves.

Migaki was already moving again, trying to hem the ten-year-old in with wires, when Harry got to his feet. Harry jumped straight up and sprang off of one of the branches high above him, launching over the older boy's trap. He let out a handful of shuriken, forcing Migaki to dodge right into his line of attack.

The two boys clashed, Harry swung a kick which Migaki caught with a grunt of effort before swinging a punch of his own—Harry blocked his hand before it reached his groin and twisted his arm to catch the other boy's wrist, throwing his own punch. Migaki pushed his leg away, quickly raising his arm to block the second attack, and then gravity caught up with them both as Harry's decent led him past the tree branch Migaki had been perched on.

They fell, tumbling over each other as they each attempted to gain the advantage as well as prepare for the inevitable collision with the ground. Migaki landed first, using the momentum of the fall to roll over his shoulder—Harry followed, grunting as he forced the roll to continue until he was able to establish his position on top.

Migaki attempted to kick the younger boy off, but Harry pinned down his legs effectively, struggling against the other Genin's grip on his arm, which still hadn't loosened.

Using that battle as a distraction, Harry let go of Migaki's struggling arm and managed to land a punch before Migaki reacted to the sudden change.

With a glare, Migaki let go of Harry's other arm, using one arm to block and the other to reach for his kunai pouch—Harry was quick to reach for his own and an instant later they were at each others throats. The tip of Harry's black blade was tense against the hollow of the other's throat, having been thrust straight towards it. Migaki had come at him with a slash, intending to threaten his teammate with the whole edge of his blade, but Harry had brought his arm up to intercept it, protecting his throat at the cost of a cut on his forearm.

"Alright—that's enough!" Hitsuya-sensei called out.

Harry pulled back, off of his teammate, and sat on the ground, trying to catch his breath. Migaki sat up, rubbing his throat as he heaved for air, adrenaline slowly draining out of his body.

"Good job, Harii," the man praised, walking towards them, "That was good thinking to get out of Migaki's trap." He turned to the other boy with a frown, "Migaki, you need to be less cautious—you aren't going to win if you're afraid of taking risks."

The light-haired boy sullenly ran an arm across his eyes, rubbing away sweat. "I'm not afraid," he retorted, "Just pragmatic. What's the use of letting Harii cut me up when it's just training?" He stared pointedly at the cut Harry was examining.

Harry answered before his teacher could get to it. "You have to treat every practice as if it were real and your life is really in danger," he stated, "Otherwise you'll form bad habits that will endanger you more in a real fight."

Hitsuya-sensei nodded, "Right, you need to give it your all in training, or you're not going to last long when we start getting more dangerous missions."

Migaki shot his teacher a dry look, "I think I can handle myself against a couple of petty thieves, sensei."

Harry sighed—it seemed like his teammates planned to stay Genin forever. Migaki was, of course, referring to their mission to Kuronagai last week, when the three of them had been waylaid in the market while their teacher was working out a few final details with their client. The thieves had had knives, but hadn't particularly known how to use them, and even the Genin had been able to take out all six of them by themselves.

The police force had thanked them profusely when they turned them in later.

"One of these days you're going to be fighting against more than wild animals and street robbers," Hitsuya-sensei pointed out disdainfully, "You're not ready to go against a real shinobi, yet. That's why you three won't be participating in the Chuunin exams coming up."

Harry wasn't particularly surprised at the announcement—Tenzou had told him about the exams yesterday and asked if his team was participating. Since Hitsuya-sensei hadn't mentioned it, Harry had thought it unlikely, and Tenzou had agreed.

Migaki had a protest on his lips—"I could fight other Genin!"—but Harry interrupted before the sentence was fully formed, "Where's Inaho?"

Hitsuya-sensei sighed, "He disappeared a little while ago, presumably to practice his Suiton Technique."

Harry nodded in understanding—in other words, Inaho had gone off to sulk again. He wasn't a bad fighter, he had all the basic techniques down solidly, and the strength to back them up, but he lacked Migaki's creativity, so it was easy to predict and counter his moves. He didn't expect creativity, either, so it was easy to surprise him. Apparently, he'd been near the top of his class in form at the Academy, and took it hard when he was beaten again and again by his teammates.

"That's it for today," Hitsuya-sensei stated, "Migaki, take ten laps around the village, and remind yourself why it's sometimes important to sacrifice small injuries for an overall victory, then you can go home."

Migaki groaned and shot Harry another glare before he set out running.

"Harii," Hitsuya-sensei added, "You take twelve laps—after you bandage your arm."

Migaki wasn't quite far enough not to hear, and snickered.

"What!" Harry blurted in protest before he could stop himself.

"The sooner you start, the sooner you can go home," Hitsuya-sensei pointed out. At Harry's disgruntled expression the man added, "It's not a punishment, Harii. Running is just another opportunity to improve yourself—be grateful that I'm giving you this opportunity."

Running around the village didn't seem like an opportunity to Harry. He could do it any old time—of course, he didn't, because it was boring. He quickly and grumpily pulled a small roll of bandages from his pouch and wound it a few times around his arm, breaking off the extra with his teeth before tying it off. Reluctantly, he followed after Migaki, not bothering to complain to his teacher. Hitsuya-sensei wouldn't listen—he seemed to think young boys should like to run.

Inaho joined them near the beginning of their third lap, looking distinctly annoyed. "I wish sensei wouldn't provide me with so much opportunity," he muttered to his teammates as he drew even with them.

Harry couldn't help the grin that crossed his lips, "How much opportunity did he give you?"

"Fifteen laps," Inaho grumbled, then added in a falsely bright voice, "Lucky me!"

Even Migaki chuckled before they all lapsed into silence again, conserving energy as much as they could for the task at hand.

They were halfway through their ninth lap—Inaho's seventh—when all of a sudden they were forced to evade a barrage of kunai. They drew to an abrupt stop, weapons already in their hands as they faced whatever new threat had stopped them—their teacher's idea of a fun new game, probably.

"I finally got your attention," a bored voice called out before the figure appeared, "I've been following you for a while now, but it seems you didn't notice."

Harry frowned in confusion, his brother had never interrupted him in the middle of training before. His teammates looked between Harry and the white-haired teen, making quick connections in their minds.

"I didn't know you had a brother!" Inaho exclaimed, looking at Harry as though he'd committed an A-class offense by not divulging every detail of his personal life.

Migaki rolled his eyes. "Idiot," he grumbled, "Haven't you ever heard of Hatake Kakashi? Sharingan no Kakashi?"

Inaho opened his mouth even before he completely took in his teammate's words. His mouth stayed open then and he gawked at the older boy silently.

Harry sighed, not sure which of his teammates to be more embarrassed of—it had been only recently that his brother's name had become famous; a few months before he'd graduated Kakashi had proudly presented Harry with a picture of the newest addition to the Shinobi "Bingo" Book, which had turned out to be a somewhat unflattering description of the teen.

"Kakashi-niisan, why were you following us?" He asked, pushing aside his teammates' reactions.

Kakashi shoved his hands into his pockets and answered casually, "When I was filing my report earlier, the Hokage asked to speak with you."

Harry blinked—what did the Hokage want with him? His eyes widened, maybe he wanted Harry to enter the Chuunin exams with another team?

Migaki frowned. "We're in the middle of laps," he pointed out.

Kakashi looked at him, his dark, half-lidded eye conveying the feeling that he was looking at the dumbest person in the world. "I… see," he said slowly, "And these… laps are more important than a meeting with Hokage-sama…?"

Migaki flushed and didn't reply—Inaho snickered at his teammate's expense.

"I'll finish later," Harry told his teammates, having no intention to do so as he moved towards his brother.

Kakashi turned, leading the way towards town, and Harry followed, jogging a few steps to catch up.

"What does the Hokage want to see me about?" Harry asked when he caught up a minute later.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, looking back at him, "Do I look like Sandaime-sama?"

"No," Harry replied glumly.

"Then wait and ask him," Kakashi supplied.

Their walk to the Hokage Tower took place mostly in silence, and Kakashi led the younger boy up to the Hokage's office, the tallest point in the whole village. Harry had been there many times before, but he'd only been _summoned_ once, and he hadn't been back in several years.

"I've brought him, Hokage-sama," Kakashi drawled as he led the way into the room without pause.

Harry shuffled nervously in after him.

The Hokage's office was very much like he remembered it to be, the few times he'd been inside while the Sandaime was in charge. Only, this time, there was one thing that was very out of place. That was the large, flame-plumed bird perched on the back of a chair—an ANBU member stood on either side of it, obviously feeling threatened by its presence.

The Sandaime nodded in acknowledgement of Kakashi's words, "Thank you, Kakashi." He stood, walking around his desk while keeping a respectable distance from the strange bird, "Harii-kun, I am afraid I need you to do something for me."

Harry stared at the Hokage in surprise. "Me?" He repeated, "What?" He cast a nervous glance at the large bird, hoping it didn't have anything to do with that.

But Harry's luck had never been particularly good.

"That bird you see has something in its possession," the Hokage explained, "And it refuses to give it to anyone other than yourself."

Harry blinked again, taking a second look at the bird. It let out a musical trill, as though it recognized him and knew what they were talking about, then it stuck out a leg, large, cruel looking talons at the end. The ANBU stiffened at the action, stances tightening further, but they held themselves back from attacking.

The bird, Harry saw, had something tied to its leg. He looked uncertainly at the Hokage. He was beginning to think he hadn't been summoned here to talk about the Chuunin exams at all.

"Go ahead, Harii," the old man encouraged, "It will let you take it."

Still a little wary, Harry approached the bird, tense. As he drew close, he thought he could see the gleam of one of the ANBU's eyes, watching him, but he couldn't be sure for the masks that they wore. He hoped they would intercede if the bird decided his hand would make a good dinner. Turning his attention back to the bird, Harry took a deep breath and reached out.

The bird stood quite still as he swiftly untied the envelope. Harry backed away quickly and the bird trilled again, lowered its leg, and stretching its wings briefly before settling again on the chair.

Still staring at the bird, Harry held the envelope out to the Hokage, wondering why he'd been needed to take the package. It hadn't been particularly difficult.

"Thank you, Harii," the Hokage said, taking the package and immediately beginning to scan it for traps or harmful jutsu. "Usagi-san, Tori-san, please see this bird down to the falconry for food and drink."

The ANBU looked reluctant, but the one with the rabbit-painted mask approached warily and held out an armored arm. The bird, seeming to understand, hopped over to it, and within minutes the two guards had left, shutting the door behind them.

"Good, now we are alone," the Hokage turned back to the ten-year-old and held the envelope out again, "Harii-kun, I believe this is for you."

Harry blinked at him in surprise, "What do you mean, for me?"

"It has your name on it, after all," the Hokage said.

Harry looked at the envelope in surprise to see that his name was written on the back, although not in the way he was used to seeing it. The first line was printed in English, a language he'd seldom used in the last five years, and he almost didn't recognize it at all. Three lines of text in scrawled kana stood below.

_Mr. H. Potter_

_c/o Sandaime Hokage_

_Hokage Tower_

_Konohagakure, Fire Country_

"What…?" Harry reluctantly took the envelope, staring at it uncertainly. He'd never received a letter before and had no idea who would be writing him. The only people he knew were those here in the village.

Kakashi seemed equally unsettled, "Hokage-sama, what is this about?"

"Hmm…" The old man mused as Harry turned the letter over, looking at the small crest of arms set in the seal on the front. "I have some idea, but there is no way to be certain until Harii-kun reads the letter."

Harry looked between his brother and the Hokage uncertainly before breaking the seal and pulling out the yellowish paper stuffed inside. He unfolded it carefully and started to read. The first few words were in fancy English lettering, and Harry skipped gratefully down to the more familiar kana, penned in green underneath.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your reply by phoenix by no later than July 31. Fawkes will be more than happy to deliver your return letter._

_Yours sincerely,_

Harry stopped there as the lettering went back to English. He frowned up at the Hokage in bemusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asked, "What's this…" He looked down at the paper again and pronounced laboriously, "_Hoguwaatsu_…?"

"Hogwarts," the Hokage corrected lightly, "A school for… wizards, I believe. That man said he would be expecting you to return on your eleventh birthday."

"Return?" He repeated in confusion, "Return…" His eyes widened, "To England?!"

"That seems like a logical assumption," the Sandaime agreed.

"What?" Harry demanded, almost frantic by now, "No! I don't want to leave! Kakashi-niisan…!" He turned to look at his brother imploringly.

Kakashi was frowning slightly, the visible eye over his mask irritated and grave, "Hokage-sama, Harii is a Hatake, and a member of this village. We can't let them simply take him away."

Harry looked from his brother to the Hokage hopefully.

"Yes, that is true, Kakashi," the Hokage agreed reasonably, "However, going to this school may be for the best for Harii-kun. As far as I am aware, the school teaches young wizards to control their magic, and I believe we are all aware of the trouble Harii has had with that."

Harry gaped—he was being sent away because of something he couldn't control? "I'll try harder!" He promised, "I… won't do any more magic, I promise!"

Besides, nothing (big) had happened in the last four months, not since he'd accidentally gotten rid of all of Kenji-sensei's chalk during a particularly boring lecture—they'd found the chalk on the roof later. Sure, there was the occasional kunai that strayed off its mark when flying towards him, and there was the fact that he hadn't had his hair cut in five years because it hadn't gotten any longer, but those were little things he doubted the Hokage would have noticed.

Kakashi glanced at him. "Harii-san, do not make promises you can't keep," he warned, then turned back to the Hokage, "It is true that Harii's magic has been troublesome in the past, but it has also been useful. I don't think that's a valid reason to send him away."

"Calm down, now, both of you," the Hokage instructed with a weary sigh, "I am not sending anyone away. Harii, this is an opportunity for you to learn about your mother's bloodline, but I am not going to force you to go. No one will force you to go, it is your choice entirely."

Harry relaxed a little. "So I don't have to?" He persisted, "What if I just wanted to try it… could I come back?"

"Always," the Hokage agreed, "Harii-kun, you are a member of this village, you are a part of us, and you are one of my important shinobi."

Kakashi frowned, "What would this schooling mean for Harii's training? He's only just become a Genin, it would be difficult for him to keep his skills honed if he were to be out of the village for the majority of the year."

The Hokage nodded gravely, "Yes, that is also true," he agreed, "Harii-kun, these are the things you must take into account. On the one hand, if you travel to this school you will learn about your mother's legacy to you. On the other hand, chances are you will never achieve a rank above Genin, not for many years, at any rate. Leaving now may well mark an end to your career as a shinobi, it is not an easy thing to keep up your training on your own, at your level."

Harry stared at the letter in his hands, wondering why his life had suddenly become so complicated. He wouldn't have even thought going to this school would be an option—he was a Genin, a shinobi of Konoha, and he had his duty to his village. But it seemed like the Hokage was willing to let him leave if he wanted to—was he that inconsequential?

Even though he'd been working hard these last five years, even though he'd graduated a year early, after everything he'd done, he still couldn't measure up to someone like his brother. Or Uchiha Itachi. Maybe he would be more useful in England, as a wizard.

But then he'd be alone again. Kakashi would never go with him—and he doubted the Hokage would let an important shinobi like his brother leave, even if he wanted to. Kakashi was the only family he had, and all of his friends were here—Tenzou and Naruto, especially.

He didn't know much about real wizards, other than what he gleaned from the bouts of accidental magic he suffered. The boy's eyes darkened—there was _one_ other thing he knew about wizards. On August the twenty-third, almost five years ago, wizards had entered his house, slaughtered his relatives, and left him for dead.

He hadn't realized they were wizards at the time of the attack—he hadn't known that wizards were real, then. Somewhere inside, Harry thought, he'd always known magic and wizards were real, but consciously he'd rejected the possibility because of the strong feelings of his aunt and uncle. They were wizards, though—it was the only explanation for how those events occurred that made any sense.

Harry was probably the only person in the world who remembered the three Dursleys any longer, and even his memories had grown hazy with time. But as awful as he knew they'd been to him, they hadn't deserved to die like they had. To burn in that cursed fire as he still occasionally saw in his dreams.

Looking up from the letter, Harry cleared his face of all indecision and spoke firmly, "I want to stay here and be a shinobi, Hokage-sama."

The old man smiled just a bit and inclined his head, "Very well." He produced a sheet of paper and a pen from his desk, "You will need to draft a reply, briefly explaining your decision, but I do not foresee it being a problem. It was decided, when you were brought to me, that the choice would be yours."

Harry nodded in understanding and stepped forward to take the pen, carefully writing a note to seal his fate.

_I will not be attending Hogwarts. I have already chosen my career, and have no desire to be involved in the wizard world.  
__- Hatake Harii_

Finished, he handed the note to the Hokage. The man looked it over briefly and nodded in approval.

"That will be all, Harii-kun," he stated, "I will see that this note gets sent. Konoha is grateful to have you with us, still."

Smiling, Harry bowed to the man. "Thank you, Hokage-sama," he replied politely before following his brother out.

"… Are you sure about this, Harii?" Kakashi asked as they reached street level again.

Harry glanced at him in confusion, "What do you mean? Of course I'm sure. I'm a shinobi—protecting Konoha is my duty. It's what I want to do."

"Mm…" The older boy glanced back at him, "But, you know… if you'd taken Hokage-sama up on his offer, you could have gotten away from your annoying teammates."

Harry stared at him blankly a moment, then laughed, "I should've thought of that! Now I'll have to be stuck with them until I'm a Chuunin!"

"Probably longer," Kakashi intoned gravely, "Annoying teammates usually turn into annoying friends that you just can't get rid of."

"It could be worse," Harry managed as his snickers subsided, "At least they don't wear bright jumpsuits and run around making proclamations about Youth and Spring."

Kakashi pointedly ignored the comment.


	2. On the Surface

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: Characters and settings in this story belong to their respective owners, most of whom are not myself. Those belong to Rowling and Kishimoto.

I was blown away by the huge response to the last chapter! I knew a lot of people were waiting for this to come out, but I never expected so many of you to share your thoughts on it. Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate all of your kind words and encouragement! I hope you'll enjoy the second installment of SOI.

Before everyone rails on me about Dumbledore's behavior... It'll be explained eventually. This isn't proof of a gaping plot hole or anything, it's simply a matter that will be embellished upon later. Thanks for your patience.

It just so happens that a good friend of mine is celebrating her birthday today... So happy birthday to Zhang Sizheng! The next update will be in two weeks: July 8th.

Chapter 2 – On the Surface

Harry looked across at Inaho, who was hiding on a tree branch a few meters away, peering intently down at the team struggling with the marsh below. He looked across at Migaki, on the other side, and the two locked eyes.

The blond gave a slight nod and motioned with his hands. It was those ridiculous hand-motions he'd tried to use back in their Genin test, only now that they'd been with each other for just over a year, Harry knew what they meant. He nodded back and relayed the message to Inaho—who nodded in understanding.

Being the one in the middle, Harry gave the final signal, to which both of his teammates reacted instantly.

The three of them silently launched from their hiding places at the team below.

At least one of the other three Genin had noticed them, and was already turning when Inaho attacked, but Migaki and Harry both had the advantage of surprise, landing their first blow swiftly and effectively.

Harry kicked the Sand Genin in the face, landing on the swampy water with a skid—the girl looked surprised, and Harry guessed she hadn't been a Genin long, probably only six months or less. But in the end, that didn't matter.

He spun around quickly, delivering a back kick to immediately follow up the flying side-kick as the girl regained her balance, but she had brought up a pair of wooden nunchaku to block, twisting it after his foot had made contact in an attempt to throw him off balance. Harry recovered quickly, catching the weapon as she snapped it at him. He tugged.

The girl, of course, wasn't a pushover. She'd been sent all the way from Wind Country to represent her village, and she wasn't about to let Harry have her weapon so easily. The girl's eyes narrowed and she pulled back, then began forming seals with one hand.

Harry threw a pair of kunai at her and the girl swung her weapon around again, disrupting her jutsu. She did it with such strength and speed that Harry nearly lost his grip on the weapon and almost fell over all at once.

The girl jumped on the opportunity, leaping out of the water to send a flying front kick at his chest. Harry caught it, his arm wrapped awkwardly around her leg and the shaft of the nunchaku and hit her in the side with a roundhouse, releasing her as she swung towards Inaho, who was struggling against his opponent.

The girl collided with her teammate and they both went under the water, coming out spluttering a second later. They should have stayed down, Harry reflected, maneuvered a little into a more advantageous position. As it was, he was already on top of his opponent, a hand around her neck and a kunai poised at the hollow.

Inaho had likewise greeted his opponent with two kunai poised like a scissors touching just above each side of his collar bone.

"You won't kill us," the girl spat defiantly.

"Wanna bet?" Harry asked, "You're not from Konoha—if we get rid of you now we won't have to worry about facing you in battle later."

"Leaf ninja aren't that cold blooded," the girl returned confidently.

"Aren't you guys done yet?" Migaki called out and the four Genin turned to see him standing over his opponent, who was face down in the water with knives sticking out of his blood-stained back.

The other boy's face paled and the girl's complexion turned faintly green—she looked like she was about to throw up. Harry eased up on his grip just a little, not wanting to instigate something like that.

"Give us your key," he demanded, "Maybe we'll let you two live. After all, you can't pass the test with him gone."

"Y-you," Inaho's captive stuttered fearfully.

"I-I'll get it," the girl relented, eyes glued on the dead form of her teammate.

"_I'll_ get it," Harry corrected, "Tell me where it is."

"… In my pack," the girl muttered, "Third pocket in on the left."

Harry found the large wooden rod right away and pulled it out. "Sorry, but it's time to sleep," he murmured, drawing back the kunai to hit the back of her head with the butt before she could respond.

Inaho likewise incapacitated his opponent, with a blow to his temple—Harry winced, the Sand Genin was really going to feel that in the morning. The two boys caught the Sand-nin before they fell under the water and dragged them onto land.

"You were fast," Harry commented, glancing across at where Migaki had laid his own opponent.

The boy shrugged. "You guys didn't really give me the choice in the matter," he muttered, "Besides, this one was a pushover, he didn't even see me coming. He was dazed after my initial strike, and fell unconscious when I followed it up."

"We still have one more piece," Harry noted, pocketing the rod, "Three keys to enter the tower."

"The last piece is hidden, isn't it?" Inaho asked.

Migaki and Harry both nodded.

"It could be anywhere," the older boy mused.

"We have four days left to find it," Harry added, "And we have to keep hold of our other two pieces while we're at it." He cringed—that wasn't going to be easy.

Each team started with either the base or the rod of the key. They had to seek out another team that had the corresponding piece to fit with theirs and somehow obtain it from them. Then, as if that wasn't enough, they had to search the forest for the teeth. Even if you got a piece of the key from another team, they could always come and take it back while you were still searching for the third piece. Or, if a team finished their key early, they could seek out other hidden pieces and destroy them—there were only enough for a third the teams to form an entire key.

"We better get started," Migaki stated.

"Should we split up?" Inaho suggested uncertainly.

Harry frowned, "If we did that and we were attacked by a full team, we wouldn't stand a chance. It would be better for us all to go together."

"I agree," Migaki added dryly.

Inaho shrugged.

"Let's look closer to the tower," Harry offered—there were bound to be a few pieces there. Of course, it was equally likely that they'd hidden the pieces back near the fence to make students double back for them. They could literally be anywhere.

"Let's go," Migaki agreed, and the three Genin flitted off.

* * *

Two days into their search they ran into the team of Sand Genin again, apparently after revenge for being tricked—their third teammate was alive and well, after all.

"Should've just killed them," Inaho mused with a sigh—Migaki and Harry knew he didn't mean it.

They managed to scrape by another victory with a well thrown explosion tag from Migaki. The girl and the boy Migaki had 'killed' both got caught in the blast. Harry paled at the scent of their flesh burning, and stumbled uselessly, earning a kunai to the shoulder from the second boy. He didn't even notice, envisioning flames engulfing the bodies of the Dursleys even as he fought to push the memory aside. _Now_ wasn't the time for _that_.

Migaki and Inaho tag-teamed the remaining Genin and made short work of him before hurrying over to where Harry had collapsed to one knee.

"… You okay?" Inaho asked uncomfortably, looking down at the younger boy.

Harry shook his head once and ripped his mask down, emptying the contents of his stomach with violent, shaking retches. Migaki handed him his water jug when he'd finished.

Silently, Migaki crouched next to him and pulled the kunai from his shoulder—Harry stared at the still bodies of the two Genin. They weren't dead, the fire had already died out, they'd just been knocked out from the blast and burnt a little. Still, the scent lingered in the air and he heaved once or twice more before taking another long gulp of water.

"Hold still a minute," Migaki complained, pulling out his small medical kit to bandage the other boy's arm. "What's wrong with you, anyway? You froze even before you got hit."

"The… smell…" Harry muttered, embarrassed—he was a Genin now, he shouldn't be bothered by things like this anymore. Besides, it wasn't as though the Sand-nin had died, and his relatives had died a long time ago. There was no reason for him to be dwelling on their deaths now.

Migaki sniffed the air experimentally and wrinkled his nose a little. "It's not that bad," he muttered, wrapping bandages around the stab wound.

"Bad enough," Harry grunted, shooting his teammate a glare when he pulled the bandage a little too tight.

Migaki shrugged. "Inaho, get those two out of here," he directed, wiping his hands off.

"Sure," Inaho agreed unenthusiastically, heading back to pull the two Sand-nin a little further away.

"You've smelt worse things than that," Migaki accused, once their third teammate was out of hearing range.

Harry hesitated before reluctantly muttering, "My family died in a fire… I was with them at the time… Unpleasant memories."

"Ah," Migaki intoned, leaving it at that.

Harry was stumbling to unsteady feet by the time Inaho returned five minutes later, his face bright as he held up a bent wooden object triumphantly.

"Guys! Look what I found!" He called out, hurrying over to them.

"The third piece," Migaki grinned, "Where'd you find it?"

"The explosion broke a Genjutsu on one of the rocks back there," Inaho pointed, "It was really a box, and this was inside."

"Great," Harry said unenthusiastically, "Let's get out of here, then."

"Let's get to the tower," Migaki added.

Inaho pocketed the piece and the three of them set out. Harry felt more like himself after a little while, but his mood was still low after what had happened and he couldn't work up the enthusiasm his teammates mustered.

* * *

Training started the day after the second test ended. Four teams would be moving on to the third part of the exam, tournament style sparring that would take place in exactly thirty days.

Inaho begged off training with Hitsuya-sensei, claiming his uncle would be teaching him for the time being. Hitsuya-sensei agreed easily and Harry felt a pang of jealousy for the other boy. It wasn't that he wanted to be trained by his uncle—the thought of Uncle Vernon doing anything vaguely martial arts related was laughable—rather, he considered the older boy as lucky for not having to withstand Hitsuya-sensei's torturous schedule.

The Jounin ran his two students ragged over the next several weeks, having them train eight hours a day most days. By the time Harry stumbled home he was too exhausted to do anything but fall into his bed.

"You'll need to be stronger for the finals," Hitsuya-sensei lectured them constantly while making them run laps on the river or practice new Taijutsu combinations, "All those other kids will be better than you. That's the mentality you need to have. They're better so you damn well better rise above your current level."

For Harry, Hitsuya-sensei's days of reigning tyrant were broken up here and there with the days his brother was in town and offered to train him. Kakashi sparred with him more often than not, and Harry found himself nursing bruises for many days afterwards.

The day before the exam, Hitsuya-sensei met them early as usual, but with a much more welcome announcement than he usually did.

"No training today," he announced, chuckling as he added, "I know you're both very disappointed, but the tournament's tomorrow and you'd better get some rest today. You want to be at your best for the exam."

"Yes, sensei!" Migaki and Harry agreed enthusiastically.

Harry headed back to his apartment, considering how he should spend his free day. He decided on a relatively simple schedule. He'd get something to eat—since he'd only grabbed a roll on the way out that morning—and sleep for the rest of the day.

A bright color caught his peripheral vision and Harry paused. Not simply because it was a bright color, but because it had moved, in the shadows of a shadowed alley. He turned his head to look, only to see nothing.

Frowning, the pre-teen moved closer to investigate, dark green eyes darting back and forth for any sign of what he'd seen, even though the rational side of his mind insisted it was probably only a cat or stray dog. Something inside him made him suspect it wasn't.

"Ah—Naruto?" Harry blurted in surprise when he rounded a corner to find the young boy pressed against the wall behind a garbage can, blue eyes wide. He was immediately reminded of the fact that it had been two months since he'd visited the kid—not since before he'd started training for the exam.

"Harii-san," the boy returned quietly, looking guardedly up at him, his tiny body tense.

Harry frowned slightly—it hadn't been _that_ long. "Is something wrong? Why are you hiding back here?"

"'M not hiding," the boy muttered, shifting guiltily.

"Alright, have it your way," Harry shrugged. Naruto had been getting into more trouble as of late, so his behavior didn't particularly surprise him—he'd probably bothered the wrong sort of person. "Look, I'm heading out for dinner and I don't feel like eating alone. Come with me?"

The boy looked up, blue eyes still guarded, "Ramen?"

Harry laughed—like father like son, he supposed. "Sure," he grinned, "I haven't had a good bowl of ramen in a while. Come on, my treat."

As if he'd said some magic word, the four-year-old smiled brightly and trotted out of the shadows to his side, obviously pleased at the proposition. "I like ramen," he divulged secretively as they headed to Ichiraku's, "Sometimes, Ichiraku-san gives me a free bowl." His smile widened, "Ichiraku-san is so nice!"

Harry chuckled. "I think he has a soft spot for blondes," he told the boy, feeling a little melancholic as he always did around the child. Sensei would have made a great father.

Naruto practically bounced up to the bar when they arrived a few minutes later, clambering quickly on top of the nearest stool. "Hey, jiisan, give me a big one!" He ordered eagerly.

Harry rolled his eyes, climbing onto the stool next to the boy, "Be polite, Naruto-kun. Don't you know how to say please?"

The blue-eyed boy shot him a look, then turned back to the man behind the counter. "Please!" He added loudly, and jerked a thumb at Harry, "Harii-san's paying!"

With a sigh, Harry gave it up as a lost cause, and placed his own order. After putting the noodles in to boil, the owner strolled back over to them, eyes squinted in a grin.

"Ah, Harii-kun, it's good to see you again," he commented pleasantly, "You're taking the Chuunin Exam this year, right?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed with a grin, "It's the first time we've taken it, but we already made it to the third test!"

Naruto looked up at him with wide eyes, "Are you going to be a Chuunin, Harii-san?"

"Maybe," Harry replied, "It depends if I can impress the Hokage in the tournament."

Naruto nodded thoughtfully, as though he understood completely.

"Well, I wish you luck," Ichiraku said, "I'll make your order especially big—you'll need a lot of strength for tomorrow!" He turned to the kitchen.

"Hey, I've got a great idea!" The four-year-old blurted loudly, turning excitedly to the older boy, "How about I go to the tournament and cheer you on!"

Harry saw through the excuse, of course. Naruto just wanted to go to the tournament. He'd cheer him on, alright, but that wasn't the driving motive.

"I'll ask Kakashi-niisan if he'll take you," he offered.

"Yeah!" Naruto agreed enthusiastically, blinked, then asked, "Who?"

"Kakashi," Harry said again, "My brother. You've met him before—he looks like me only taller and with spikier hair," he moved his hands over his head to emphasize his point.

"Hmm…" Naruto mused, eyes squinted in thought.

"Never mind, Naruto," Harry said, "I'll see if he's going to be in town, okay?"

"Okay!" Naruto agreed enthusiastically.

Ichiraku arrived with their ramen and the little boy immediately dug in, mumbling enthusiastically around his mouthful, "I'm going to see Harii-san fight! Real ninja, oh boy!"

Harry rolled his eyes and tucked into his own bowl—which was larger than usual, as Ichiraku had promised and had three eggs instead of the usual two.

It wasn't Naruto's fault that he didn't remember Kakashi. It had been more than a year since the boy had seen him, he thought, and even then Kakashi was quick to come up with an excuse to leave.

Kakashi didn't seem to want to have anything to do with the boy, and Harry could understand why. It was almost frightening how similar he looked to the man that had acted as a father to the both of them. Admittedly, Harry had only known the Yondaime for a little more than a year, but the man had been the first person he could remember that had been kind to him.

Still, Kakashi wasn't so heartless as to look down on a young boy for something he couldn't control. Harry suspected he kept an eye on the boy more than he admitted—Kakashi had casually encouraged him to spend time with the child, occasionally, when it had been a while since his last visit.

Harry always felt bad when the lengths of time he went without visiting grew too long, anyway. This was Naruto, who he'd agreed to take care of like a big brother, and he barely saw him anymore. Things were always too busy with missions and training—he was beginning to understand why his own brother hadn't done a lot with him when he'd first arrived.

Glancing sideways at the small boy, Harry mused over whether it would be too soon for him to start training as a ninja, yet. Maybe Harry could do like Kakashi had done, and bring the boy along to his training sessions; Naruto would certainly enjoy it.

He cringed—Hitsuya-sensei probably wouldn't approve. It would be easier if he was a Chuunin already and could take responsibility of his own training at least some of the time.

"Hey," he started after a moment's thought, "Are you starting at the Academy next year, Naruto-kun?"

Naruto slurped up the last of his noodles and turned to him with a wide grin. "Yep!" He confirmed excitedly, "O-jiiji promised! I'm going to be the best—you'll see!"

Harry chuckled. "I'm sure you'll do well," he agreed. If Naruto was anything like his father—and Harry knew he was, in some respects—he'd quickly rise to the top of the class. In other respects, he was more like his mother. Harry quickly derailed the thought—that subject was a little more painful for him.

"Are you done?" The eleven-year-old prompted when Naruto set down his bowl after draining the liquid.

Naruto looked mournfully down at the empty bowl, then glanced slyly across at Harry's, which still held a few noodles.

"Yeah," he answered distractedly, "Are you going to eat that?"

Harry let out a snort and quickly raised his chopsticks again, "Of course I am! I need my strength for tomorrow, remember?"

"Yeah…" Naruto agreed, watching sadly as the last of the soup disappeared down Harry's throat.

Harry stood up as he finished, fishing out the money to pay for the meal from his pocket. Luckily ramen was cheap so it wasn't much of a stretch on his wallet. He turned to go as Naruto clambered down from his stool.

"That was… nice," he commented awkwardly, "We should do it again sometime, Naruto-kun. Maybe we'll come out to celebrate when I earn my Chuunin vest."

The boy looked up at him with those wide blue eyes again, looking amazed, "Yeah! You really mean it?"

"Of course," Harry shrugged, "I—" the eleven-year-old broke off as a splitting pain suddenly shot through his head.

A strangled cry tore from his throat before he could muffle it, and his hands flew up to his forehead protector, pressing hard on the object in an attempt to smother the pain before tearing it off—neither move had any affect.

Naruto had stepped back in surprise and was now staring up at the pre-teen with horror, not knowing what was going on. A crowd was already closing in around the two, Ichiraku racing out from his shop to offer whatever help he could. Harry didn't notice any of it.

All he knew was the searing pain coming from his forehead, like someone was pressing a hot metal into the front of his head and he couldn't pull away from it no matter what he did. It burned and nothing he tried was stopping it. He screamed again, falling to his knees in pain, not noticing the ramen man hovering behind him or the orders that a passing shinobi snapped off for someone to get a medic.

Before his eyes, something flashed, another place that was entirely unlike where he was.

A dark room, circular and stone, like a cave but smooth from the shaping of human hands.

The pain in his head seemed to double, and with it was a vicious sense of victory that seemed completely misplaced in his pain-flooded mind.

Light glimmered off of a reflective surface—a mirror, Harry realized somewhere within the pain.

The crowd had grown to fill the street, mutters and gossip filling the air between them. Shinobi had to force the people apart to let a medic-nin through the group.

Something red flashed in the mirror: a stone—a precious gem, perhaps.

Ichiraku had eased Harry down onto his back, and the medic crouched beside him, forcing the boy's shaking hands, slick with blood, away from his forehead. There, the lightning shaped scar that had always been there was bleeding as freely as though it had just been sliced out with a sharp kunai.

He felt the warmth and the weight of it, as though the stone was actually in his hand, and the mirror lay in shards around his feet. A high-pitched laugh filled his ears.

The medic tried to close the wound, green, healing chakra glowing around her hands and the cut on the boy's forehead, but something lashed back, white energy highlighted with green, numbing the young woman's hands as she jerked away, and the wound bled further. A sound made her look down with wide eyes—the boy was chuckling, his whole body shaking with pain.

The vindictive pleasure he felt in that moment, as the stone burned in his hand and his body began splitting in two, a second form that would be his very own tearing from his temporary host—who was screaming with terror and pain—was almost strong enough to overpower his own pain. But as he stood, seconds later, facing the slumped, robed body that had once been his, the pain became completely unbearable, reaching to even higher levels.

Harry screamed again, and then everything went dark.

* * *

"An anomaly of this size couldn't have gone unnoticed in even the most basic of medical examinations," an unfamiliar voice was stating as Harry slowly began to come to, head throbbing.

"It isn't something that could develop suddenly, either," a more familiar voice argued, "Something like that would take years to fully develop. Either you guys missed something, or he must have been attacked."

"There were multiple witnesses, Kakashi-san," a second familiar voice explained shortly, "Ichiraku-san reported nothing unusual happened until they left his stand, and all of the witnesses have been interrogated for connections. If he was attacked, it would have had to be by someone invisible." The annoyance was obvious in the deep voice.

"Maybe a new jutsu with a time-delayed response," Kakashi reasoned, "Something could have happened in the Forest."

"They already reported to me what happened in the forest," his teacher said impatiently, "There wasn't any sort of attack that could have caused this."

"… I wasn't attacked at all," Harry groaned, cracking his eyes open to see the people standing in his hospital room. There were two medics, Hitsuya-sensei, and Kakashi. All of them together in the small room made it seem very crowded, "How long have I been out?"

There was a general hesitation before Hitsuya-sensei answered, "Two days, Harii."

The significance wasn't lost on the eleven-year-old and his heart sank, "You mean I've missed the exams."

The man nodded, "I'm afraid so."

Harry stared down at his hands—he'd been so close, too, he'd made it all the way to the third test. Now he'd have to wait a full six months before he could try again.

"Harii, tell us exactly what happened before you passed out," Kakashi demanded, distracting Harry from his disappointment.

The boy frowned, thinking back. He vaguely recalled what happened, but it was all blurred together with pain, and his head was still aching badly now. He reached up to rub at his forehead and found that it was covered with bandages. With a sigh, he lowered his hand again.

"I was just eating ramen with Naruto-kun," he supplied, ignoring the looks of disapproval on the faces of the two medics and his teacher, "We'd just finished and left the ramen stand, then… I don't know, suddenly my head started hurting. Like it was being split open with something really hot." It made his head throb even worse in sympathy. "It… Kakashi-niisan, I had a really weird… dream, too."

Kakashi frowned, "What do you mean a dream? Do you think someone hit you with a Genjutsu?"

"I don't know," Harry replied, "But it felt very real… and it was so different from anything I've ever seen before. There was a mirror—in the center of a stone room—and it broke… and a stone—a red stone… then the man split in two, and I—_he_—was so… happy. It was… creepy."

Kakashi was frowning in thought. Slowly, he shook his head. "It doesn't sound like any Genjutsu I've ever heard of," he noted, "I'll report it to the Hokage, though."

"It probably wasn't Genjutsu at all," the second medic said, "If the body experiences an intense enough pain, the mind has been known to make up images to distract the victim from the pain. Disjointed images like that were probably caused by extreme stress and trauma."

Harry frowned at him dubiously. "They weren't disjointed," he corrected, "It was like an event was taking place but I only caught snatches of it… Like the projector at the theater had a flickering light bulb or something, so the film was interrupted." He'd only been to a theater once, a few months after he'd made Genin Tenzou had taken him to see a horror film in the next village—he still didn't know how the movie ended.

"Alright, alright, I'll report it anyway," Kakashi said firmly, "Is there anything else you can remember, Harii? Don't you remember anything suspicious that might have happened?"

Harry's teacher frowned and grumbled, "I'll bet that Kyuubi brat did something."

Four pairs of eyes immediately snapped to him. One of the medics was the first to speak—the one from the Hyuuga clan—and Harry recognized his voice as the one he'd first heard upon waking. "You know that's not allowed," he said scathingly.

"He was with him at the time," Hitsuya-sensei shrugged, "I'm just saying what everyone's thinking. It's the only explanation for what happened."

"The demon is sealed," Kakashi said crossly, "There's no way it could have done something like this. And even if it could, what reason would it have to lash out against Harii-san? There were others around at the time, I would think it would have picked a better target."

"Naruto-kun didn't do anything," Harry agreed, "He's not a bad kid, you know, and he's _definitely_ not the Kyuubi."

The man shrugged, but didn't appear convinced.

"It could be somehow related to his false tenketsu points," the Hyuuga mused, "The consequences of systems like that are largely unstudied because of their rarity."

"False tenketsu points?" Harry echoed with confusion.

"The points in your body chakra flows through," Kakashi supplied, "Apparently, many of the tenketsu in your body are fake. They don't connect up to your chakra circulatory system."

Harry blinked, "What… does that mean? I've never heard of that before."

The Hyuuga offered him what Harry guessed was supposed to be a reassuring smile, but his grim face didn't make it very effective, "False tenketsu points are rare, but they aren't unheard of. There are a number of shinobi known to have the same ailment, and a few of them have even made Jounin."

"A normal shinobi has 361 tenketsu," the medic continued, "These allow him to mold a massive amount of chakra into his techniques at one time. The fewer you have, the less chakra you can implement at once. This is fine for most shinobi, however it can be difficult to learn A- and S-rank jutsu."

"In other words," Kakashi supplied, "It would be difficult for someone like you to make Jounin."

"As I said earlier," the Hyuuga added, "It is not unheard of."

Harry nodded vaguely, still assimilating the new information, "But… what does that have to do with what happened…?"

"Maybe nothing," the second medic said, "Nothing like that has happened to others with your condition… Not that we know of, at least—we're having the records pulled from the archives to double check."

"It is possible," the Hyuuga started slowly, "That the cause of the anomaly originated from the scar. Harii-kun, where did you get the scar on your forehead?"

Harry's hand went up to his forehead again—he couldn't feel the scar through the bandages, but he knew well enough where it was. "My scar?" He echoed, "I've had it ever since I was a baby… My parents—that is, the Potters—they died in an accident, and that's when I got it."

Kakashi frowned, "They didn't die in an accident, Harii-san, they were killed."

Harry looked at him in surprise, frowning in confusion, "What do you mean? It was an accident—a… _vehicle_ accident."

The teen shook his head. "They were killed," he said firmly, looking across at the medics, "If he had the scar since then, the injury might have been caused in the fight. It's possible that it's related to some jutsu."

Harry stared at him and barely kept himself from pressing the issue. What did Kakashi know about the Potters?

The medic nodded, "We'll look into time-delayed jutsu…"

"Never heard of one waiting so long to make its effects known, though," the other medic muttered, "Not without some sort of trigger, at least."

Harry listened to the adults argue for a while longer, but his head still throbbed and they used words and phrases that he didn't really understand. Soon, he fell asleep again, dreaming of accidents and bright green lights and a shadowy driver who knew how to use Ninjutsu.

* * *

"Let go of me! I want to see him!" A loud voice jerked Harry back out of his sleep.

He was alone in his room, staring up at his ceiling with bemusement for a moment, wondering what it was that had woke him. A loud sound in the hall, followed quickly by a cry of pain made him jolt upright in his bed. He sat still for a moment as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

"You little—" a second voice started, lowering until Harry wasn't able to hear the rest of the statement.

Still seeing spots, Harry stumbled out of the bed and towards the door, nearly losing his footing but catching himself on the wall. He fumbled for the doorknob for a moment, then jerked the door open, glaring out at the man standing in the hall.

On the opposite side, Naruto was glaring up at the man from the floor, one of his cheeks an angry red. It was the four-year-old who noticed him first.

"Harii-san!" The boy exclaimed.

"What's going _on_ out here?" Harry demanded irritably of the medic.

The man turned to him, an equally irritated look on his face. "This brat was attempting to break into your room," he explained, shooting the boy in question a scathing look.

"I was not!" Naruto shouted back defensively, then turned to Harry and added, "I just wanted to see if you were okay! The people at the front desk wouldn't let me in."

Harry fought the instinct to roll his eyes—Naruto could be a little tiresome at times, but it didn't give someone the right to hit him. "Naruto, come here," he directed tersely.

The little boy stuck his tongue out at the infuriated medic before scurrying past him into the room, safely behind the teen.

"I don't think Hokage-sama would be very happy to hear about medics abusing young children," Harry murmured to the man, "If I hear of it happening again, I guarantee you someone's going to lose their license."

The man snorted, shooting one last glare past Harry at Naruto. He moved away, grumbling, "Try to do a guy a favor and he threatens you. See if I ever try to help you out again..."

With a sigh, Harry pushed the door shut again and sank wearily onto his bed—his head throbbing again. Eyes closed, the teen reached up to rub at his bandaged forehead uncomfortably, wondering what had really happened to him.

"Does it hurt...?" A meek voice asked and Harry's eyes opened again to see Naruto shifting nervously in front of him.

"Not so much," Harry assured the boy, "Now it's more of an ache."

"Oh," Naruto shifted again, looking down at the floor as he scuffed at it with dirty sandals a size too small, "Ichiraku-jiisan said you'd be fine, but..."

"I am fine," Harry said, "You know it wasn't your fault, right?"

The four-year-old didn't look at him and nodded once.

"Kakashi thinks it was probably some sort of time-delayed Ninjutsu," Harry added, "Something really advanced. I don't think a four-year-old could have done something like that." He paused and added, "No offense, Naruto-kun," when the boy looked put out.

"I can do lots of things," Naruto pointed out sullenly, "I almost got all the way to your room without being caught, too."

Harry smirked despite himself, barely managing to stifle a laugh. "You shouldn't do that again, Naruto-kun," he chastised, "If they don't let you in, they might have a good reason for it. Like if I was in intensive care or something—they usually don't let visitors in, then."

"But you weren't!" Naruto exclaimed indignantly, "They just don't like me! Am I supposed to just let them push me around 'cause they hate me?"

"No," Harry said carefully, "But if you're not going to listen to what they say, anyway, then there's really no reason to ask in the first place. It just puts them on the lookout for you, after all."

The boy's expression lightened and he grinned in understanding, "I get it! So next time I should just sneak in without asking if I can visit you!"

Harry reflected for a brief moment on the consequences of teaching young children to disrespect authority, then nodded, "Right. A shinobi doesn't ask permission from anyone... except the Hokage, of course."

Naruto made a face, "That old man!"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Yeah, that old man. Listen, Naruto, you should probably go. I'm pretty tired." And the hyperactive kid was just making his headache even worse.

"Oh... yeah," Naruto agreed sullenly.

Harry smiled in exasperation, "Don't take it like that... Look, after I get out of here, I'll take you out to ramen again, okay? We'll try it without the fainting this time."

The little blond boy perked up immediately, "Really?!" His expression turned suspicious again in an instant and he peered up at the older boy, "Right after you get out?"

"The day I get out, I'll pick you up from Yorou-san's house and we'll go straight from there," Harry promised.

"Yosh!" Naruto cheered, "The day you get out! You promised, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry confirmed with exasperation, "Now get out of here, I'll be released a lot faster if I can get some rest."

"Okay, o-niisan," the young boy confirmed cheerfully, "Rest up, and get better soon!"

Harry stared at the door as it was slammed shut with all the exuberance of the small, four-year-old boy. Slowly, a wide smile spread across his face.

Naruto had never called him a brother before.

"I'll definitely be there, Naruto-chan," he muttered before laying gratefully back on his bed.

* * *

Harry was actually surprised when Migaki visited the next day, halfway through his morning meal. He'd never really seen the older boy outside of missions and training before, except in passing once or twice. He felt a little stupid for his surprise—even if they weren't particularly close, Migaki was still his teammate, so of course he'd be a little worried when one of his team ended up in the hospital.

There was an awkward silence for a moment before Harry broke it, "Good morning."

Migaki nodded in greeting, "How are you feeling?"

"… Better," Harry replied—his forehead didn't hurt so much anymore, but there was still a steady throbbing. It was a much welcome change from the sharp pain he'd felt before.

"That's good," Migaki commented—from his tone he could have been talking about the weather.

Harry hummed in agreement—at least the other boy had made the effort to come visit.

"… Inaho's here, too," Migaki explained after a long minute had passed in silence, "He got pretty beat up in his match."

Harry felt a spike of anger at the casual news, but suppressed it. It didn't seem fair that he hadn't been able to compete because of something completely out of his control.

"How was the tournament?" Harry forced out, passably polite.

Migaki shrugged, "Alright. There were five Genin who were promoted—three from Konoha, one from Rain, and one from Grass."

"How'd you do?" Harry asked, only a little curious.

"Alright," Migaki said again, "I won my first match, but lost the second to the other team of Leaf Genin. Inaho lost his first match to one of the Rain Genin."

"The one who was promoted?" Harry asked.

Migaki shook his head and silence descended again.

"… I should visit Inaho, too," Migaki said at last, looking awkward again.

"I'll go with you," Harry offered, swinging his legs out of bed—his muscles were a little stiff from laying around the last couple of days and he could use a short walk.

Migaki frowned at him, "Are you sure that's okay?"

"It's fine," Harry stated, "They're only keeping me for observation, anyway. I feel fine." He was grateful that his legs held him steady to back up his claim.

The other boy gave a reluctant nod, "Inaho's one level up," he supplied, leading the way out of the room.

Inaho was just finishing off his own breakfast when his teammates entered, Migaki rapping lightly on the door and announcing their presence as he opened it. The brunet looked up and cringed at the sight of the other two boys.

"Hi Migaki," he muttered, "Hi Harii… I guess Migaki told you what happened."

Harry shrugged, slumping down into the seat that Migaki pulled out for him, "Just a little—you were injured in your fight against a Rain-nin."

"When you say it like that it actually sounds kind of cool," Inaho said, then sighed, "She totally creamed me."

"She?" Harry repeated with a cringe of his own.

"I don't think I'm cut out to be a Chuunin," Inaho sighed, "I'm not as good as you guys."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, "You made it to the third exam, at least. I didn't even make it that far." He tried to keep his voice light and joking, but Migaki must have heard some of the irritation underneath it because he glanced at Harry with a frown.

"That's only because you…" The blond hesitated.

"Yeah, what _did_ happen to you, Harii?" Inaho asked, sharing Migaki's confused look, "Hitsuya-sensei didn't really say anything about it, just that you'd be in the hospital a few more days."

Harry rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "I'm not sure myself," he admitted, "Just that it had really bad timing."

Migaki made a noise that could have been either amusement or agreement—Harry wasn't sure.

Inaho just sighed, "I wouldn't have minded missing the tournament…"


	3. Persistence of Need

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: This story is a bit misleading. While I can bend many of the characters to my will and manipulate timelines and universes like some twisted, all-powerful god playing with a wind-up jack-in-the-box and a miniature tea kettel with a frog in it... none of it actually belongs to me. (Not even the wind-up jack-in-the-box or miniature tea kettel.)

I've been busy and neglectful this last while, so I took a long time replying to some of your reviews. Very sorry, I'll try not to let it happen again. I appreciate them all, even the ones that question my plot and characterization. Now that I'm getting around to posting this a few hours after I originally wrote the A/N... I'm sorry to say that it's likely that this time I'll be late on replying to reviews, too. I just found out that the father of a friend of mine died yesterday, so I'm a bit depressed... I'll do my best.

Some concern has been brought up over whether Harry's going to turn out to be a _ninja_ or a _wizard_ in this story. Obviously, the answer is that he'll be both. Sort of. A ninja through occupation and a wizard through birth, I suppose. There will undoubtedly be many times where his loyalties may appear to be in question and his future in doubt one way or the other, but try to keep an open mind and know that things will work out in the end. My outline claims that the plot this time will be very complicated, and there will be a lot of things coming up that I don't think anyone else is going to be able to predict.

One last thing, I promise. After reading this chapter, let me know what you think about the distinction between English and Japanese. There... isn't much of one. I tried to make it clear in the dialogue so I wouldn't have to do any of that annoying italicizing stuff that I've seen other authors do... But if it's too confusing, I could add something like that.

Next update should be July 22. I hope you all enjoy it.

Chapter 3 – Persistence of Need

The sky and the earth suddenly exchanged places; it was raining up and the colors were bleeding into each other in some kind of twisted alteration of nature. Harry knew what he was seeing wasn't real—couldn't be real—but he couldn't shake himself out of the illusion imposed disorientation that pinned him in place.

A second later, the earth and the sky resumed their normal positions and the twelve-year-old was rubbing at a painful knot on the top of his head. He glowered at his brother.

"You're supposed to be avoiding looking at my eyes," the nineteen-year-old reminded him dryly, mismatched eyes cool as they regarded the Genin, "Remember?"

Harry flushed slightly. "That's easier said than done, Kakashi-niisan," he grumbled, picking himself up again, "How am I supposed to fight someone I can't even look at?"

"Can't you figure even that out?" The teen asked with exasperation, "If Gai can find a way to fight the Sharingan, you should be able to. Begin again."

With a sigh—they'd been at this for hours and he was cold, wet, tired, and ready to call it a day—Harry slipped back into his fighting stance, keeping his eyes pointedly on his brother's legs and feet, far away from his face. He took a deep breath and then moved in to attack.

It was a difficult thing, keeping his eyes lowered even in the middle of a kick, but he knew he had to do it. If he looked into Kakashi's Sharingan, he'd be trapped in an illusion and fail.

Kakashi blocked the kick with ease and returned with an attack of his own, which Harry barely managed to avoid. The boy skidded back, away from him, and palmed a pair of kunai, throwing them in the teen's general direction. Kakashi only had to move to block one of them as the other sailed safely past him.

With a sigh of irritation, he appeared suddenly behind his younger brother, delivering a fast strike to his back, between his shoulder blades, sending the boy face-first into the ground.

Harry rolled out of his fall and spun around to glare up at his brother. "You said you were going to go easy on me!" He accused from under limp, muddy bangs. If it was against Kakashi, Harry knew he didn't stand a chance with Taijutsu—and Ninjutsu was out of the question since the Sharingan could easily copy and counter everything he threw at it.

Kakashi snorted and crossed his arms, "If you aren't even going to take this seriously, I don't see why I should. Harii, you couldn't even defeat a Genin the way you are attacking now. You have to come at me with—"

"The intent to kill," Harry supplied with irritation, "I know, sensei says that all the time." He hesitated, then added, "But... I don't want to kill you, niisan."

"You won't," Kakashi said confidently, "Nothing you could throw at me would endanger my life, Harii."

The twelve-year-old still looked reluctant.

Kakashi sighed, "If you're like this with me, how are you going to fight against Uchiha Itachi?"

Harry shifted awkwardly and frowned. "That's different," he mumbled, lowering his gaze again, "Uchiha's not my brother. Besides, I've wanted to wipe that smug arrogance off his face for years."

"He's two years younger than you," Kakashi pointed out, "When you get out there, he'll look just like a kid—will you be able to fight seriously in a situation like that?"

The boy's green eyes flashed and he glared up at his brother. "Uchiha's the only thing standing between me and my rank as Chuunin!" He exclaimed, "No way will I lose to him!"

"You say that now," Kakashi mused, "But it's different when you're placed in a situation where you have to fight someone like that." He frowned thoughtfully and Harry waited patiently for him to continue.

Suddenly, the teen began forming seals, and a cloud of smoke later, Harry found himself facing a black-haired boy several inches shorter than himself. The boy gave him a cheesy smile.

"Let's go again," the boy said.

Harry scowled, "Why can't I just train with sensei and Migaki?"

"You're fighting an Uchiha," the boy reminded him with a frown, "If you can't learn to counteract the Sharingan, you're going to lose."

The boy's eyes flashed to red, the second-stage Sharingan revolving in both as he glared up at the white-haired boy coldly, "You don't want to lose to _Uchiha Itachi_, do you?" Kakashi would never hear the end of it if Harry lost to _Fugaku's_ son.

"You don't really look like him, anyway," Harry complained, "Itachi never smiles."

The Itachi-look-alike rolled his eyes—something else Harry had never seen the _real_ Itachi do before. "Let's just go again," he directed, "You're not the only one who hates sparring in the rain, you know."

"Okay, okay," Harry agreed resignedly, "Just give me a minute..." He fell into a fighting stance and frowned at the boy in front of him, trying to forget that it was really Kakashi in disguise.

It was a difficult mind set to fall into, but Harry was determined to win at the tournament in three weeks, so he forced himself to get serious, calling to mind the numerous times his team had wound up in dangerous situations. Silently, he slipped back into his fighting stance, left leg in front, and nodded at his brother.

In a way Harry was glad he'd missed the final tournament of the Chuunin Exams last year—it meant that this year he'd drawn Itachi's name for the final match. Becoming a Chuunin would mean so much more when it came through defeating the prodigy of the Uchiha clan.

"I'll defeat him," he announced coldly, staring straight at the Itachi Henge, "No matter what."

"Then prove it," the boy demanded.

Harry lowered his eyes, away from the Sharingan, and flew into motion. He closed in quickly to test his brother's reaction, throwing one or two sloppy attacks before he was forced to dodge out of the way of the Itachi Henge's retribution.

Fighting normally wasn't going to work—he'd have to think of something entirely different.

Harry spun as he jumped to the side, his hands starting to move even while his back was to his brother. With his teeth gritted, he forced himself to concentrate on his chakra with more intensity than he'd ever needed to before. When he came back around he was on the final seal: "Suiton: Ase-Teppoudama!"

The other boy's red eyes widened briefly in surprise before he dodged the small bullets of water that appeared out of mid-air in front of Harry. A satisfied smirk curled his lips.

* * *

"Thank you, Kakashi," the Hokage began as the two boys stood before him, "Harii-kun, you're doing well, I hope?"

Harry could hardly believe he was asking him that—with all the bumps, bruises and cuts, he thought the answer was rather obvious. Still, the boy forced a polite, "Very well, Hokage-sama."

When Kakashi had announced he would be training his brother for the third part of the Chuunin Exam, Harry had been thrilled. After two and a half weeks of training, he was considerably less enthused at the prospect—Kakashi was an even more difficult task master than Hitsuya-sensei, and every day the twelve-year-old woke with new aches and bruises. Still, he was improving, and the real Uchiha Itachi couldn't possibly be as strong as Kakashi _pretending_ to be Uchiha Itachi.

He was definitely going to become a Chuunin this year.

The Hokage looked at him with a knowing smile, "Training hard for the Chuunin Exams, I expect." Harry nodded and the man's expression sobered, lips turning down in a frown, "Unfortunately, that is not what I've called you here today about." He lifted a thick, parchment envelope from his desk, "You have received a letter."

"What, again?" Harry asked in confusion—he'd only received a letter once before, and hadn't expected to ever receive one again.

Kakashi frowned, "I thought we made our answer clear, Hokage-sama."

Instead of answering, the Hokage simply held the letter out to the boys. Harry took it and read the green kanji aloud, "Dear Mr. Potter," he began, raising his eyes long enough to trade an annoyed look with his brother. He continued:

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We regret that you opted not to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry two years ago. We would like to extend to you a second invitation. Under ordinary circumstances, students are never admitted past first year, however, due to the extraordinary events of late, your transfer into third year has been approved by the Headmaster of Hogwarts along with the Ministry Department of Education and the Minister of Magic, himself._

_You are encouraged to consider this opportunity carefully and to respond at your earliest convenience. Please send your reply by Phoenix; Fawkes will be standing ready, as ever. Make up material will be available through the summer and your professors will prepare extra remedial work throughout the school year. Transportation will be arranged upon your reply._

_Attached, you will find a list of supplies for your third year, as well as the extra items your remedial work will require…_

Harry trailed off as he skimmed through the rest of the letter, which was pretty much a repeat of what he'd read in the last letter. He looked up and frowned at the Hokage, "I'm not going. I said that before. I'm a shinobi."

"I am still required to pass on their letters to you, Harii-kun," the Hokage said patiently, "It is, of course, your choice how you wish to respond.

"I'm not going," Harry repeated, "My place is here—Konoha is the only place I've ever belonged." He scowled, "Besides, I have a duty to protect the village, and soon I'll be a Chuunin, it wouldn't be right to leave now."

Ignoring him, Kakashi was looking over the paper again, "I wonder what it means by extraordinary events...?" He glanced at his brother with a small frown—the world of wizardry was a mysterious place to him, but he couldn't help the nagging suspicion that it was connected to the odd problems Harry had been having with his scar lately.

Harry looked at him in surprise, "Are you saying you would consider sending me away depending on what happened?"

The older boy shook his head slightly, "You're a Hatake, Harii, you belong to Konoha. Whatever goes on in that wizard country is none of our concern." He frowned, "It does make me curious, though."

"I'm not curious," Harry said defiantly, "I don't care what happens there."

"Details were not given," the Hokage supplied, "Harii-kun, if your mind is made up, please write a response." He smiled slightly, "You know the falconry does not appreciate housing that bird."

The twelve-year-old nodded and, at a gesture from the Hokage, took up the brush the man had on his desk and quickly scribbled a reply on the back of the letter. He shoved it back into the envelope and handed it to the Hokage. If he ever heard from wizards again it would be too soon.

"Kakashi," the Hokage began, "I know you're busy with your brother's training, but something important has come up, and I need you on it."

Kakashi frowned, glancing at the boy before replying, "Of course, Hokage-sama."

"Compose a list of areas he needs more work on, and I will find a suitable replacement for you," the Hokage offered. At the teen's nod, he looked at Harry and added, "I am afraid I need you to leave now, Harii-kun. Someone will be at your normal training ground tomorrow to help you."

"... Yes, Hokage-sama," Harry agreed reluctantly, bowing briefly and shooting one last glance at his brother before leaving the room.

* * *

"Three days," Harry muttered as he headed home after another grueling day of training. He'd thought, naively, that no one could be a more demanding teacher than his brother. That was before he'd been assigned to Gai—the only other person who was willing and able to help him develop the skills he needed to defeat the Uchiha Sharingan.

He rubbed his forehead with irritation. The pain had returned to the dull throb he was used to, but this morning it had flared up again. It would certainly be easier to concentrate on training if whatever was wrong with his scar would stop acting up. He'd been able to ignore it for most of the year, but lately it had been getting worse more often.

"Yo," a familiar voice stopped Harry and he turned to see a cloaked ANBU leaning against the fence a step behind him, orange book propped in front of his masked face.

"Hi," Harry replied with less enthusiasm than normal—a small, childish part of him insisted on blaming his brother for the trouble he'd endured these last few days. He frowned disapprovingly at the older boy, "You aren't supposed to let me see you like that."

The nineteen-year-old lowered his book enough to look at the younger boy through one of the holes in his dog mask. He took in Harry's bedraggled appearance—the grass on his knees, the mud on his cheeks, and the twig that seemed to be lodged in his hair. The Jounin chuckled and reached out to remove the stick and toss it on the ground as he joined the boy's side.

"Do I want to know who the Hokage replaced me with?" He asked with amusement and absolutely no compassion.

Harry scowled, walking beside him towards their apartment. "You'll think it's funny," he said grumpily, "Maito Gai."

The teen did snicker, then added, "He's a good choice—he trains against me sometimes."

"And he seems convinced that he has to make twice the progress with me as you did," Harry complained, "In a third of the time."

"But you are improving, right?" Kakashi pressed.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. He smiled thinly—there was no doubt. He would pass the Chuunin exam for sure. After the last month, there was no way he couldn't. He took another look at his brother—the ANBU's boots were filthy, and rusty red dotted his cloak. He frowned, "You haven't even gone home yet?"

The teen had his attention on his book again, "Was the uniform too much of a clue? Or was it me walking home with you that gave it away?"

"You're dirty," Harry said simply.

"... This coming from the kid who looks like he's been rolling around on the ground all day," the ANBU commented dryly.

Harry scowled and shoved his hands unhappily in his pockets, "Never make me train with your friend again. He's insane."

The teen lowered his book, frowning at his brother over the top, "Gai is more of a... tolerated comrade than a friend."

"Whatever you say," Harry agreed unconvincingly.

Kakashi raised his book again, choosing to ignore the comment.

The two fell back into silence.

Kakashi didn't make a habit of walking with his brother while wearing his ANBU armor. Like the boy had pointed out, Harry wasn't supposed to see him in it at all. Theoretically, he wasn't even supposed to know he was in ANBU. It had been a coincidence that he was leaving the Hokage's tower at the same time Harry was passing by, but a coincidence that had allowed Kakashi to notice a suspicious character that seemed to be paying a little too much attention to his brother. He had shadowed the pair for a few minutes just to be sure he wasn't imagining things.

Even now, the man was behind them—Kakashi could feel it. They'd been making a lot of turns, and the ANBU couldn't just pass the presence off as coincidence. He was trained to notice things like this, and maybe he was being a little paranoid, but there was definitely something off with the stranger.

He felt strange—like he wasn't completely there—when Kakashi reached out to feel his chakra. He didn't seem threatening, but Kakashi wasn't about to chance it. An unknown factor was often more dangerous than even a blatant killing intent, and there were many unknown factors about the stranger.

Harry, of course, hadn't noticed.

"Let's go faster," Kakashi said abruptly, jumping to the nearest rooftop, reading material still in his hand.

It took Harry a second before he followed, speeding away after his brother with mild confusion. The boy put on an extra burst of speed to catch up with the Jounin, pushing his protesting muscles out of his mind.

"What's going on?" Harry hissed quietly.

"So, you finally noticed?" Kakashi asked.

"Noticed what?" Harry demanded, "You're acting really weird today."

"We're being followed," Kakashi supplied. He frowned, "I don't think he can keep up with us, but there's no telling what his motives are or what he already knows about us."

"Ninja?" Harry asked—he couldn't sense anyone behind them.

Kakashi shook his head in a minute action, "I don't think so. His chakra level is way below the norm... It doesn't rule it out completely, of course..."

Harry frowned in alarm and quickly pulled his mask up from its position bunched around his neck, "What should we do?"

"Just be on the lookout," Kakashi supplied, "I didn't sense any hostility, but his behavior is too suspicious to be trustworthy."

Harry nodded and kept pace with the older boy the rest of the way back to their apartment complex.

Once they arrived, Harry hung back as Kakashi carefully searched their door for any sign of tampering. The traps were all still set and there was no sign of anyone having broken in—or attempted to break in—so the Jounin assumed they would be safe inside.

Harry pulled down his mask again once they were inside and the door was safely closed behind them. He frowned up at his brother, who was carefully taking in the room for anything out of place, "You really don't know who's following us?"

"You," Kakashi corrected.

Harry's frown twitched and he followed his brother to the kitchenette, "What do you mean, me?"

"Whoever it is, he's following you," Kakashi supplied, "Nothing here, let's check your room."

Harry's eyes widened slightly as his brother turned towards him before leading the way to his room. Underneath his dog mask, Kakashi's Sharingan was uncovered, scanning the rooms for anything that looked suspicious. Harry followed him.

The teen looked around carefully, but couldn't find anything particularly malicious. His brother's room wasn't as tidy as he would like it, but it wasn't particularly messy, either. Harry's futon was rolled up against the wall and there were only a handful of things scattered around the floor or left out on the desk.

His eyes paused on a scroll laying innocently on the desk, opened a little. It looked normal enough at first glance, but the chakra clinging to it was a little strange—he couldn't quite figure out how.

"Is that yours?" He asked Harry, nodding to the scroll.

"Huh? Yeah," Harry replied, crossing to his desk, "I got it from the library, it's just a history, but—"

Kakashi's eyes widened slightly as the boy moved to pick up the scroll. A history scroll would have no reason to have chakra applied to it at all. He darted forward, reaching for his brother's hand and simultaneously warning him, "Don't, Harii!"

But Harry's fingers had already closed around the scroll and the boy felt an unsettling sensation. It felt as though someone had abruptly yanked him out of the way of a kunai by his belly button, and there was a disturbing, dizzying sense of motion. The room blurred out of existence in the blink of an eye and before Harry had fully realized it was gone, another replaced it. He started to stumble, but a strong hand on his wrist kept him upright.

The boy looked up and was slightly comforted to see his brother standing beside him, although the way the teen's narrowed eyes roved the room and the tension in his muscles spoke volumes to the danger they were in. Harry took a look around, too.

It was nothing spectacular, but a rather bare room that looked as though it hadn't been used for ages. The stone floor was dusty and the windows didn't show anything but a bright, blue sky and green, rolling hills. Stone walls were bare and dusty desks were pushed against the walls. There were cobwebs in the corners, adding to the feeling of disuse.

"Niisan," Harry started carefully, voice quiet, "What's going on?"

"It must have been some sort of summoning jutsu," Kakashi replied, voice just as quiet. He didn't sense anyone nearby, but everything about the room put his senses on edge. It was almost as though the room itself were alive—he wasn't sure where that crazy thought came from. His Sharingan was aching worse than it ever had before.

Both boys turned at the same time when a sound behind them alerted them to a door creaking open. Harry reached for his kunai instantly but Kakashi had already let a handful of them fly and was moving towards the door, ANBU issue katana in hand.

Two of the kunai hit their mark while the other one ricocheted off a stone wall in the hall and clattered to the floor. The perpetrator barely had time to grunt in pain before Kakashi was holding him by the front of his sparkly blue robes, sword poised against his neck.

"Who are you?" Kakashi demanded in a voice that promised dire repercussions if it wasn't answered satisfactorily, "Did you summon us here? What's going on?"

It was an old man that he held, with long white hair and a long white beard, the latter so long it had been tucked through his belt. A pointed hat that matched his robes was on the floor beside him and he was wearing spectacles that looked as though they'd had the top half taken off. He said something—voice strained and more than a little startled—but neither boy understood him.

Kakashi pressed the blade a little firmer—the man, at least, had the good sense not to move. "Who are you?" He repeated sternly.

Harry blinked when the man spoke again, voice just a little calmer but still sounding extremely worried. He'd understood that. At least, he thought he did—it sounded familiar.

"Kakashi, wait," Harry said as the older boy's frustration at not knowing what was going on and not being able to understand his only prisoner began to show through. The older boy did pause, masked head tilting slightly. Harry stepped closer, kunai still in hand. He frowned at the older man and took a moment to dredge up the language he hadn't spoken in six years.

"You... What... did... you say?" He asked in broken, slightly accented English.

The old man's lips curved into a small smile and he responded in like, slowing down his words a little and enunciating clearly. "I was only asking your friend not to do anything hasty," he commented, tone light for a man whose life could be ended by the slightest movement of another's hand, "You must be Harry."

Harry frowned in concentration, then glanced at his brother suspiciously.

Kakashi's grip tightened and he ground out angrily, "How do you know his name?" The man blinked at him, still smiling contentedly. Kakashi's eyes narrowed further behind his mask and he growled over his shoulder, "_Harii_."

Harry understood without further instruction and repeated the question to the man in English, "My... How do... you know... my name?"

"I know more than your name, Mr. Potter," the old man said amiably, "If you would kindly ask your friend to please release me I could explain things to you."

Harry frowned and, keeping distrustful eyes on the old man, he spoke to his brother, "I think... he wants you to let him go before he explains."

Kakashi eyed the man distrustfully and made no move to release him.

"I assure you, friends," the old man said, "I have no intention of harming either of you. I merely want to talk."

Harry rolled his eyes and repeated the sentiment to his brother, "He says he wants to talk."

"Is he the one that brought us here?" Kakashi demanded, still unwilling to release his prisoner.

Harry looked at the man, "Are… are you the… person that... bri... brought... me and him here?"

The man's smile was rueful. "I am afraid I must take the blame for that," he confirmed, "I apologize for bringing you here so rashly, and against your wishes, Harry, but I had no choice since there was no other way to speak with you."

Harry's eyes narrowed—the man spoke with difficult words to understand, but he understood enough. He turned to report to his brother, "He is."

Kakashi scowled at the stranger, "Where are we? Tell us how to get back and maybe we will spare your life."

Harry relayed the irate ANBU's questions haltingly, "Where is... are..." He scowled slightly, "Where is this? How do... he and I—us—we go home?" Kakashi's threat was a little harder to relate, and Harry figured the old man would have to be very stupid not to realize his life was in danger while he had a sword poised at his throat.

"My dear boy," the old man said, "Don't you recognize your own birthright? You are in Scotland, and _this_ is Hogwarts."

Kakashi's fist immediately tightened at the name of the school. He dragged the man into the room bodily and shoved him up against the wall, meeting his eyes with a single, angry black orb peering hatefully out of his mask.

"You summoned us to _Hogwarts_?" He demanded, "Can't you understand that when a person says no they mean it?"

Harry shifted awkwardly, keeping an eye on the door and the old man at the same time. "... Hogwarts sended letters to me," he pointed out to the old man, "I send... sent replies. Didn't you get them? I said I don't want to go to Hogwarts."

"Yes, I did receive your replies," the old man confirmed awkwardly, "However, you don't understand the situation, Harry. You _must_ come to Hogwarts."

"I belong to Konoha," Harry growled, irritation getting the better of him, "I don't... need... want to have... anything to do with _wizards _or _magic_. I'm a... shinobi... and I have... work."

The old man sighed. "I am sorry you feel that way, Harry," he said, "But, as I said, there are many things that need to be explained, and I would rather not discuss them in my present state. Please, you are in no danger here, let us discuss the situation as civilized men rather than resorting to violence."

Harry frowned, not liking the man's tone, and not particularly understanding everything that had been said. He glanced at his brother to relate what he'd managed to glean. "He still says he just wants to talk to us," he explained, "I think we should let him go—he's just an old man, and if we kill him we might never know how to get back."

Kakashi glared at the man, but reluctantly relented. The old man had very little chakra, even less than most civilians, and couldn't have been much of a threat. Of course, that's what he thought about the man that had been shadowing them. And if he really was the one responsible for summoning them, then he obviously had some ability.

"Tell him," Kakashi said as he slowly drew his blade away, "That I won't hesitate to kill him if I perceive a threat."

Harry nodded and related the message to the old man, "If you are... dange-dangerous, he will... hurt you."

The old man's hand automatically went to his throat as he was released, and he felt the thin line of blood that had been drawn. Still, the knife in his leg and shoulder were much larger concerns—pain throbbed through his entire body from the wounds, and though he'd experienced worse once or twice, it was still at the top of his list to have them patched up as quickly as possible.

"If you'll follow me," he said, plucking up his hat with one hand and turning towards the door, limping.

Harry frowned but moved to follow, "Where are you going?"

"The infirmary, first, I think," the man said, "And then we will retire to my office to talk."

Kakashi shot Harry a questioning look as he followed the man suspiciously, his entire being radiating paranoia as they stepped out of the secure little room.

Harry shook his head in confusion. "Where?" He prodded the old man.

The man paused to look at him, "I said the infirmary, my boy."

Harry's eyebrows drew together and he reluctantly asked, "What's the infirmary?"

"Ah, I apologize, I didn't think..." The man smiled, "The infirmary is like a hospital we have here at the school." He paused, looking at the boy inquisitively, "Do you know what a hospital is, Harry?"

Harry scowled at the condescending tone, "Yes." He glanced at his brother and supplied, "We're heading to the hospital," before turning his attention back to the old man. "You didn't say," he pointed out, "Who are you?"

"Has it really been so long since we last met?" The old man mused. He cast the boy a strained smile, "I am Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of this school. We have met thrice before, but I am afraid you were too young to remember me the first two times, and a bit out of sorts the last."

Harry frowned—he didn't remember the man at all, but he did recognize his name.

The old man led the way through a maze of corridors, staircases, and doorways until they finally came to a rather large set of double doors. He was a little out of breath as he pushed them open and led the way inside, injured leg moving stiffly.

Kakashi and Harry hung back as a plump, aged woman with graying hair noticed their arrival. She finished shifting a few vials in a drawer and moved towards the three, only to pause and then gasp as she noticed the red blood staining the old man's robe and the black rings protruding from his body.

Immediately, she hurried over, guiding the old man to sit on the nearest bed, clothed in crisp, white sheets. "Oh, dear! Albus, what happened?" She worried, not waiting for an answer as she produced a long, thin stick from somewhere on her person.

Harry flinched slightly, staring at the stick—he recognized _that_. Barely a year had gone by that those _things _didn't plague his dreams. Kakashi shifted slightly closer to him, sensitive the abrupt change in his mood.

"Nothing to worry about, Poppy," the man assured her in a rasping voice, "A slight misunderstanding, I believe."

The woman shot a distrustful glance at the two masked youths, lingering on Kakashi's frightening mask a moment longer than Harry's pale, half-clothed face, before turning her full attention to her patient. "We'll have you fixed up momentarily," she promised, moving the stick she held in a complicated series of swishes.

Harry stiffened and Kakashi was at the woman's side in a moment, holding her wrist with the stick. The woman let out a cry of surprise, her eyes wide as she tried to tug away.

Dumbledore rose to his feet quickly, moving to intercept the ANBU, but before he could do anything, Kakashi's blade was out in his free hand, poised at the wizard's neck again.

The old man's blue eyes nervously slipped across to Harry, who was watching them suspiciously, a black knife clutched tightly in one hand again, fighting against the images of his memory.

"Harry," Dumbledore started, keeping his tone calm, "What are you thinking? Tell your friend to let Poppy go."

The twelve-year-old shook his head, "She... she's one of _them._"

Dumbledore frowned, "What do you mean, one of them, Harry? This is Madam Pomfrey, our resident nurse."

Harry frowned suspiciously at the two adults, "She has a..."

Dumbledore glanced at the frightened woman, his eyes landing on the stick in her hand. His expression softened a little. "It's called a wand, Harry," he told the boy, "Almost every witch or wizard has one."

Dark green eyes regarded him suspiciously, "You have one?"

"... No one's going to hurt you, Harry," Dumbledore assured the boy, "Poppy uses her wand to heal people."

Harry shook his head suspiciously, switching to speak with his brother, "That's what they used to kill the Dursleys."

"... Take it from her," Kakashi ordered.

Still watching the two adults suspiciously, even though he was sure Kakashi would react before either of them could do anything, Harry approached and snatched the wand from the woman's hand. A strange, warm sensation ran up his arm from the stick and Harry almost dropped it in surprise; then the sensation passed and the wand felt just like ordinary, polished wood.

The woman looked at Dumbledore, obviously distressed, "Albus, what...?"

"Not now, Poppy," he replied, "Everyone, just remain calm. Harry, you have the wand now, so please let Madam Pomfrey go."

Harry frowned at him suspiciously, "You said you have one."

The man hesitated a moment before reluctantly conceding, "I'll let you hold it if it makes you feel better." He glanced at the young man with a knife to his throat, "Do you want me to take it out now?"

Harry glanced at his brother, "He's going to give me his, too."

Kakashi nodded. "Slowly," he commanded.

"Slowly," Harry repeated.

Slowly, Dumbledore drew his wand from his robes and held it out to Harry. "See?" He asked as the boy stepped back, "We aren't going to hurt you. We only want to talk."

"... These are dangerous," Harry said suspiciously, "You use them to hurt."

"Sadly, some people do use them to harm others," Dumbledore conceded, "But that is not their only use, and it is not what Poppy was going to use hers for."

"Y-yes," the woman confirmed shakily, "I was going to take care of Professor Dumbledore's wounds... Harry. You see, I'm a medi-witch, we use magic to heal injuries."

Kakashi slowly withdrew from between the two strangers, putting himself between Harry and them. The woman immediately went to Dumbledore's side, easing him back down onto the bed and flustering over the small cut on his neck.

"I am fine, Poppy," Dumbledore said wearily, "Harry..."

Harry glanced uncertainly at his brother.

"What is it?" Kakashi asked suspiciously.

"She says... she's a medic... I think," Harry supplied, "She says... she was just going to use it to heal him."

Kakashi frowned, "Do you believe her?"

"I... don't know," Harry supplied uncertainly—he'd never heard of magic healing anybody before. It had always been an aggressive force in his life—helpful, sometimes, but never in a particularly passive way.

"... Chakra can be used as offensive and defensive," the teen stated lowly, "If magic is anything like that... Perhaps it can also be used in more than one way, depending on the jutsu."

"Please, Harry," Dumbledore said carefully, "Trust us."

"... Wizards hurt... killed the Dursleys," Harry said.

The old man looked pained, his old face drawn and weary, "Yes... it was an oversight on my part... I didn't believe they could hurt you there, but I was proven wrong in the most horrible way."

Harry studied the two figures for a moment. They were nothing like the shadowy, masked figures in his dreams. Those were assassins, more like ANBU than anything else. Neither of the pair in front of him looked as though they meant him harm, but... Harry had been wrong before. Not often, but once or twice someone had managed to pull one over on him.

"Harry... Please, dear," the woman put in softly.

Reluctantly, Harry nodded, slowly stepping around his brother. "If you try to hurt us..." He started, glancing at the ANBU, who was tense and ready to defend them.

"I won't, I promise," Poppy said gratefully, holding out a slightly shaking hand to take the wand Harry stretched out for her.

"Slowly," Kakashi ordered, repeating the word he'd heard Harry use earlier. It came out with a thick accent, but both adults seemed to understand, glancing at him with startled expressions.

"Yes... yes, of course," the woman said shakily, turning her attention back to Dumbledore. Taking a steadying breath to calm her nerves, she began again.

Harry stared as first one, then the other kunai pulled free of Dumbledore's body and floated through the air apparently on their own accord. They clattered noisily on the metal tray on a nearby table.

"Now, let me see," the woman said, voice still a little shaky as she folded back the old man's baggy sleeve to his shoulder. She had to tug at it a little—some of the cloth had been pushed into the cut by Kakashi's kunai—and the old man let out a quiet hiss as it finally pulled free and was rolled back the rest of the way.

The cut was clean—Kakashi's throws were always good—and a damp, yellow sponge floated into the woman's waiting hand. She carefully cleaned the blood staining the skin around the cut, casting occasional, nervous glances back at the pair of white-haired boys, then performed several waves of her wand.

Harry watched in veiled astonishment as the wound healed and closed over before his eyes. Kakashi made a low noise of interest that didn't carry past his brother's ears. In less than a minute there wasn't so much as a pale scar to show where he'd been hit.

"And now your leg, if you would, Albus," the medic said in a professional manner, glancing at Harry and Kakashi once more.

Dumbledore hoisted up his leg with a grimace of pain and pulled back the material of his robe just enough to reveal the pale thigh that had been hit—this time the cloth didn't stick, the kunai had slid fully through it before slicing into flesh.

As the woman worked, Kakashi unobtrusively made his way to the metal pan his kunai had been dropped in, still keeping a keen eye on the pair of adults. Casually, he picked them up, wiping the blood on a small rag meant for that purpose in one of his pouches, and then returning his equipment to its place.

"There, good as new," the woman declared as the second wound shut fully. She shuffled back to her drawers, "Just one more moment, Albus, and I'll get the Blood-Replenishing Potion for you."

As she was distracted, Harry took another quick glance up at his brother. The ANBU mask was, of course, as emotionless as ever, but his body was subtly tense and Harry could just see a blood red gleam in his left eye hole as he surveyed the rest of the room. Apparently the Sharingan was awake. It made him feel a little better about their situation.

The old wizard obediently drank down the small mug of murky liquid with a grimace of distaste, then smiled up at the woman, "Thank you, Poppy."

"Yes, well, do be more careful in the future," the woman chastised crossly, "You aren't as young as you used to be, Albus." She glanced anxiously back at the boys again and carefully set her wand down on the table.

Dumbledore chuckled good-naturedly and rose from the bed. "Yes, I know it," he agreed, turning from the medic to the two young ninja, "Now, boys, if you would follow me, we will retire to my office to talk."

The old man swept past them and through the door, his gait much smoother than it had been before. Kakashi turned and followed immediately while Harry's eyes lingered on the medic a moment longer, watching as her frown deepened when her eyes landed on the pan Kakashi had emptied. When the doors shut behind him, he hastily turned and followed after the wake of his brother, worried about getting lost.

More staircases and corridors led them to a stop in front of a statue that resembled some ugly, twisted sort of deformed child with wings leering down at them. Harry looked at it distastefully, wondering what they had stopped for and Dumbledore spoke again.

"Pepper Imps," the man said coolly.

Harry frowned in confusion—it was English, but a seemingly nonsensical phrase. He didn't know what it meant, at any rate. The twelve-year-old jumped back, hand automatically returning to his kunai pouch when the stone statue suddenly twisted to life.

Its awful maw, filled with jagged, misshapen teeth, twisted into something that could almost be a smile, and it nodded its head in their direction politely. "Welcome back, headmaster," it acknowledged before abruptly leaping to the side, revealing a hidden doorway.

Harry opened his mouth to put in his disbelief at the sight, but Kakashi caught his arm, causing his words to die on his tongue. The ANBU gave a slight shake of his head.

"Wait until we are in the office," he advised quietly, "Then we will get all the answers we desire."

Harry nodded, closing his mouth again, and preceded his brother onto the spiraling staircase just beyond the doorway.

"Steady now," Dumbledore advised and the staircase gave a surprising lurch, spinning in an upwards motion. Harry instinctively grabbed onto the railing, wondering again at the strange things he'd seen already. This world was definitely not one he belonged in—only fifteen minutes here and he felt as though he were trapped in some insane nightmare.

The man opened a large, wooden door at the top of the stairs and led the way into what was clearly his office.

Thankfully, the office looked very much like an office. It was a large, circular room, with several large windows providing a very clear view of expansive green grounds and a glistening blue lake. An enormous desk that rivaled the Hokage's in size sat in front of a set of shelves with an odd collection of items—a tattered old hat was set next to a shiny, golden monocular.

There were square portraits on the walls, depicting men and women that tittered quietly and eyed the group curiously, moving like a film—Harry had seen others on the way to the hospital, and then to this office, so he wasn't terribly surprised; but they were still a bit unnerving. On one wall was a large fire place, and all around the edges of the room were several spindly legged tables holding queer, silver objects that looked to be important but Harry couldn't begin to guess the uses of. Several of the objects had moving parts, pumping, spinning, or puffing out small clouds of smoke into the air.

The wizard was moving towards his desk, and stepped around it to the high backed chair that stood behind it. He motioned towards the seat on the other side.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," he offered amiably, "I'm afraid I only have one chair."

Harry glanced at Kakashi, not sure what to do now.

The ANBU ignored the chair, but moved closer to the desk, mismatched eyes glaring at the Headmaster. He slammed his hands onto the polished surface of the desk with enough force to dent the top slightly.

"You promised to talk if we followed you here," he growled dangerously, "So start talking. How did you bring us here? How are we to return?"

Harry cautiously approached the irate Jounin's side.

The old man merely smiled at the pair, "Before one starts a discussion, it is polite to take one's seat. Would you care for tea?"

Harry scowled at his light attitude—after suddenly abducting them with no explanation, all he wanted to do was drink tea? "No tea," he said, "Tell me how to get home."

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore gave him a fatherly smile, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Wouldn't you like to hear why I've brought you here?"

Harry's eyes narrowed in annoyance, "I don't care. It has... nothing to do with me. How do we get home?"

"You don't understand, Harry," Dumbledore insisted, ignoring the question a second time, "The wizarding world _needs_ you. You have been chosen, Harry, to be our savior."

Harry looked at the man as though he were crazy, then shot an anxious look at Kakashi—of course, his brother didn't understand what the old wizard was saying, but he still looked annoyed. As though feeling the younger boy's eyes on him, Kakashi turned towards him slightly, eye questioning.

"He, er, hold on a minute," Harry told him awkwardly before turning back to the wizard. His irritation lit up again. "What do you mean, _savior_?" He demanded, "Why would you... choose me? I'm not even part of your... world."

The old man was looking at him seriously, "It wasn't us who chose you, it was fate." His arm raised and a spindly finger protruded from his aged hand to shift up the boy's headband slightly—Harry abruptly pulled back, eyes wide. Dumbledore continued blithely, "The night you were given that mark you were chosen."

Harry's hand went up on instinct to the scar on his forehead, expression guarded and suspicious. He quickly replaced his hitai-ate, "What do you mean? What do you know about what happened…?"

He'd tried asking his brother, once, after he'd insisted the Potters were murdered. The teen had just shrugged, _"I found out when you first moved in with us; I don't know how it happened… We should get back to work."_

"Niisan said they were…" he hesitated, throwing around for the right word before lamely finishing with, "Killed."

Dumbledore looked tired and he nodded sagely, "Yes, they were murdered."

Harry frowned, committing the unfamiliar word to memory.

"The man who killed them tried to murder you, as well," the Headmaster continued sadly, "But you survived with only that mark, and his killing curse rebounded on himself."

Harry's hand touched the metal plate of his hitai-ate again. Could that really be true? How could something that was meant to kill leave nothing but a small scar? Nothing added up.

"That's not… that can't happen," Harry argued, "If that… I don't believe you."

"You certainly remember the men who worked for your parents' murderer," Dumbledore offered softly, "Those... were the ones who killed the Dursleys."

Tall, shadowy figures wearing long, black robes and frightening, white masks suddenly flashed in Harry's mind, and the revolting scent of burning flesh filled his nose. He flinched slightly and felt Kakashi stiffen next to him again. When he looked back at Dumbledore, his green eyes were hard and cold, smoldering with anger.

"Don't talk about them," he all but growled, then corrected himself into English, "_Don't talk about them_!" His hands fisted at his sides and he regained a little of his composure, voice still dark and expression accusing as he continued, "It was _you _people that killed them." His voice rose, cracking slightly, "They _burned them alive_!" He'd listened to their screams until a terrible silence had overtaken them, "They were..." he struggled for the right word, "_Normal_ people and they killed them only to get to me!"

The aged Headmaster frowned, but his blue eyes were soft behind his glasses, "Harry, it wasn't _our_ people that killed your family. Wizards, like any other group of people, have some who stray from the right path and do wicked, even despicable things. Those were very dark wizards that attacked your family, most of the wizarding world was horrified when they learned what had happened."

"Then why didn't you do anything?!" Harry demanded irately, losing his cool completely, "Why didn't you use your _magic_ and stop them before they..." His voice choked off. Kakashi was staring at him—Harry imagined he was disappointed, but he couldn't help himself. In his six years in the shinobi world he'd never seen anything as terrible as he'd seen that day. Even the day of the Kyuubi's attack had seemed less terrible. At least the ones killed had been able to fight.

The old man sighed, "I am sorry, Harry. We were too confident in the steps we had already taken to protect you, and too slow to realize when something went wrong." He looked at the boy, almost imploringly with his eyes, "But, believe me, Harry, it was an honest mistake. We didn't intentionally hold ourselves back."

With some force—the knowledge that Kakashi was watching him helped—Harry managed to get a reign on his emotions again. The fiery hatred that had blazed for a moment in his eyes cooled once more to his smoldering depths and his voice was calm and coldly detached when he spoke. "It's too late to apologize. I don't care for the wizard world. Take us back to Konoha." This time it was a demand, not a request.

"You don't understand," Dumbledore said again, "If you gave our world a chance, I'm sure you would grow to love it, Harry."

"I don't _want_ to love it," Harry countered coldly.

"Harry, if you abandon us now, the same thing that happened to you will happen to countless other families," the wizard insisted, beseeching the boy's sympathy.

Harry hadn't been raised to be particularly sympathetic, but he still felt a twinge of guilt at the words.

"Lord Voldemort will do the same, and even worse, to any muggle or wizard who tries to defy him," Dumbledore continued, watching the boy's eyes soften slightly, "That is why we need you, you're the only one with the power to defeat him."

"Why?" Harry asked, unable to help himself, "Why can't... someone else do it?"

"No one else can," Dumbledore insisted, "It must be you, for the wizarding world... and for your parents."

"My parents?" Harry echoed in confusion.

"Harry... Voldemort was the one who killed your parents," Dumbledore supplied, "He murdered Lily and James Potter—and though he wasn't your real father, I know for a fact that James loved you like his own son."

His blunt admission startled the boy a little, but he held onto his shinobi training and recognized the flaw in the man's story, "You said he was hit by his own killing... curse. Doesn't that mean he's... killed? Or does killing mean something else?"

"We don't know exactly how he survived," Dumbledore admitted, "But his body was destroyed by the curse, and for ten years he was without a body, wandering the world as a spirit. Last year... he returned."

Harry scowled, "What do you mean, he returned? People can't... That's not... After he's killed..." Harry broke off in frustration as his old familiarity with the language failed to supply him with the correct words he wanted.

"Like I said, he wasn't quite dead," Dumbledore explained.

Harry struggled against his own frustration to understand, "How could he not be kil—dead if he didn't have a body?"

The old wizard looked thoughtful, "I suppose... in much the same way a body can live on without a soul."

Harry frowned deeply—the conversation was losing him completely.

The man chuckled. "Oh, yes," he assured the boy, mistaking his expression, "It is possible."

Turning in his seat slightly, the man grabbed a stack of books that Harry was sure hadn't been there a moment ago. He turned back, holding them out towards Harry. "This is the coursework you would have learned the last two years, had you attended," he supplied, "If you take it and read it, I'm sure you will come to have a much greater understanding of what magic can do."

Harry frowned and didn't move to take the stack, "Will you send us home if I take them with me?"

"There's no need for you to go all the way back to Konoha to read a few books," Dumbledore said dismissively, "You can read them here. Plus, as long as you're here you will be able to ask the different staff members if you have any questions—most of them remain here during summer holidays, or, at least, return frequently. Of course, the library on the fifth floor is also at your disposal."

Harry was growing annoyed again. "I don't want the library!" He snapped, "I want to go home to Konoha! How do we go back?"

The wizard sighed and leaned back in his chair. He clasped his hands together, propping his elbows on his armrests and peered at the boy over his hands. "I can see there will be no distracting you, Harry, so I will be blunt. The only way for you to get back to Konoha is via an object called a portkey, a normal object that has had advanced magical spells placed on it for transportation. All portkeys must be approved by the Ministry of Magic, and I very much doubt they would approve of you leaving us again, Harry."

Harry stiffened in indignation, "That's not fair! I didn't want to come here!"

"I am sure after you help us with our problem the Minister will be more than happy to help out with yours," Dumbledore said reasonably, "Stay here and help us defeat Voldemort. Once you have, we will send you back."

Harry glared at him for several long seconds—this was blackmail! If they needed him so badly, they should have done a better job protecting him in the first place!

At length, he turned his back on the wizard, too irritated to continue looking at the old man.

"Harii?" Kakashi had turned as well, and was looking at him questioningly again, a severe edge to his gaze.

Harry lowered his voice despite the fact that Dumbledore wouldn't understand and replied. "The only way to get home is through the use of a... magic object," he supplied bitterly, "He called it a 'portkey', and said that the only way to get one is through their _Ministry_." He scowled under his mask, eyebrows drawing together in irritation, "He said they wouldn't let us leave unless I help them defeat this Voldemort-san."

Kakashi shot a distrustful look at the man over his shoulder, "How long will that take?"

Harry shrugged.

The ANBU mask tilted down slightly, a sign of annoyance, "Then ask."

With a sigh, Harry looked over his shoulder and addressed the Headmaster again, "How long will it take to... defeat Voldemort-san?"

"That is, of course, dependent on a wide variety of things," Dumbledore pointed out reasonably, "It will undoubtedly require a strong knowledge of magic, which could take many years."

Harry felt affronted again—how could they seriously be telling him to leave his home and study here for years? He turned back to Kakashi, a small amount of red anger coloring his face around his mask, "He said it could take years."

Kakashi didn't reply for a long time. It was long enough that Harry's anger faded slightly to be replaced by confusion.

"Niisan?" Harry prompted, mindfully not using the ANBU's name in front of the old man.

When at last Kakashi spoke, his voice was cold and hard, unwavering. "That is unacceptable," he said sharply, "Tell him to show us out."

Harry was a little unnerved at the barely controlled anger he heard in his brother's voice. He sounded furious—more so than Harry had been at the news, and Kakashi wasn't prone to bouts of anger while Harry knew he had a bit of a temper at times. He turned back to the Headmaster.

"We want to... be shown out," he said awkwardly, then paused, realizing that it wasn't a very descriptive request. He glanced across at the ANBU, "Niisan?"

"Outside," Kakashi growled.

"We want to go outside," Harry supplied.

Dumbledore frowned dubiously, casting the caped teen a wary look, "For what purpose?"

"Niisan..." Harry questioned tentatively, "Why?"

"Because I'm going to kill something in about five minutes," Kakashi replied, voice cool again, "And I would rather it not be our current source of information."

Harry grimaced slightly and turned back to the Headmaster. "We're not going to... run away," he supplied, "He's... angry and doesn't want to... hurt you again now."

The old man regarded the pair silently for a moment—the anger was almost palpable in the room and he regretted that he'd caused it. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he and the others looked towards it as it began to swing open.

Dumbledore knew what was going to happen before it did, and he opened his mouth to warn whoever it was not to enter, but the masked teen beat him to it, suddenly at the door and pushing it closed with more force than necessary. He shot a look over his shoulder and the Headmaster could almost see the murderous gleam in his eyes.

With a sigh, he rose, setting the books back on his desk. "Very well," he allowed, "Follow me."

Harry raised an eyebrow—this man really had no idea how much risk he was placing on his life. "Just say it," he offered, "He's... very angry."

The Headmaster hesitated again before giving the pair a long string of directions. Once he'd finished, he opened his mouth to check that they remembered it all, but the ANBU was already out the door and Harry hurrying after him, leaving a flustered wizard standing in the doorway, torn between looking after the departing boys and Dumbledore with confusion.

With another weary sigh, the old man settled back down in his chair and dropped his head into his hands, wondering when, exactly, things had become dire enough that they resorted to kidnapping children and forcing them to fight against their will. But Voldemort needed to be stopped and he would do everything within his power to stop him—even if that meant taking the wrath of Harry Potter upon himself.

"Remus, my friend," he started wearily, one hand diving into his robes to touch his wand (he wasn't so foolish to hand it over in a clearly dangerous situation, after all)—the man threw one last look at the newly departed shinobi before continuing into the office—"We have made a grave miscalculation somewhere along the way..."


	4. A Strange Castle

Sphere of Influence

Disclaimer: I own a new little puppy named Kova, but I still don't own Naruto or Harry Potter.

There were a lot of mixed reviews on Chapter 3, it was fun to see what everyone thought about how things were progressing. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially the annonymous reviewers I couldn't reply to, both those who liked it and who didn't.

Everyone was really angry at Dumbledore... I was kind of surprised. I hope in the coming chapters you come to understand him and his decision a little better. I hope I can make Dumbledore's reasons clearer in future chapters, too. Already things are complicated, Harry just doesn't realize the extent of those complications.

My life is suddenly very busy between now and August 5, so I'm very sorry, but I think Chapter 5 will have to be delayed to August 12. I'll try to get it up before that, though... Thanks for bearing with me, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 4 – Stranger and a Strange Castle

"So, what are we going to do now?" Harry asked as he collapsed into a cross-legged position at the base of the tree Kakashi had abandoned his cloak next. He was exhausted, everything from the last twelve hours catching up with him again. First the training—he _hated_ Gai—then the summoning thing—he didn't know how the ninken could stand it—the emotionally draining exchange he'd had with the Headmaster, and, finally, a good hour of training while listening to unfamiliar forest noises that were constantly raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Kakashi was nowhere in sight when he asked the question, but the ANBU appeared on a branch over his head a few seconds later, standing with his arms crossed, still tense and angry.

"We have to find a way back," the teen stated firmly.

"How?" Harry demanded, tilting his head up to look at the older shinobi, "He said the only way is through their Ministry, and they'll never let us go until we do what they want."

"I don't know," Kakashi replied irritably, "But remaining here is not an option."

Harry frowned—he didn't see it as much of an option, either, but he couldn't see what other choice they had. "Why are you being so adamant about this, niisan? He said it would take a long time, but I'm sure together we could kill this Voldemort-san quickly."

The emotionless face of Kakashi's ANBU mask stared down at him silently for a moment, then he abruptly dropped from the tree, landing in a crouch right in front of the boy. Harry flinched despite himself, but Kakashi ignored it.

"What do you know about missing-nin, Harii?"

Harry frowned in confusion. "They're shinobi who desert the village," he supplied, "Hunter-nin track them down and... dispose of them."

"Define what it means to desert the village," Kakashi demanded sharply.

Harry hesitated. "Er... To leave with the intention of not returning, I guess," he offered, "Or with the intent of betraying our secrets..."

"Two shinobi disappear from the village one day," Kakashi said nonchalantly, "They have told no one of their intentions to leave or where they are going. What can you derive from that?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, beginning to see where this was going. "But we aren't going to betray the village!" He insisted, "We've always been loyal—Hokage-sama knows that!"

"It's not a decision that is solely up to Hokage-sama to decide," Kakashi stated coolly, "The laws of Konoha state that a shinobi who goes AWOL will be declared as a missing-nin three days after their initial desertion."

"But," Harry started uncertainly, "It's not our fault! We didn't desert the village, we were taken away!"

"How is anyone supposed to know that?" Kakashi demanded, "There is no sign of struggle in the apartment, there have been no previous threats to remove us, and no one knew that you were being stalked. The trials of a presumed missing-nin are not easy, if we don't find a way back soon we would be better off staying away forever."

Harry's eyes widened at the thought. Sure, he'd faced his share of pain and hardship in Konoha, but he'd been accepted there nonetheless. He had comrades and friends and it was the one place on earth he felt secure. Konoha was his home. He became a shinobi to protect that home, to just walk away like that would be unbearable.

Kakashi's masked face tilted slightly—back and forth in the way the masked order used to convey amusement, although Harry didn't see any humor in their situation. "We might be better off," the masked-nin repeated, "But a shinobi of Konoha never takes the easy way out for himself when it puts his village in danger. We'll return, Harii, even if it takes us years. We belong to Konoha only."

Harry relaxed a little, expression softening, "Yeah..." Konoha was their mutual bond. The fact that they were comrades was more important than even their shared blood. Without Konoha, there would be almost nothing they had in common. Nothing either of them wanted to talk about, leastwise.

Kakashi stood again, moving further away from his brother. "We should try going to this Ministry place," he said at length, "I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to lie about our probability of getting out of here." If they threatened the right people, they could probably get whatever they wanted.

Harry nodded slowly, "Should we ask him...?"

Kakashi hesitated, "If we ask him about it, he could orchestrate things so that they don't allow us to leave. We'll stay the night and make use of his library to find out where the Ministry is compared to here. The books will probably all be in English, so you'll have to read them, Harii. We'll leave as soon as possible, leaving clones in our place to delay the likelihood of him realizing we've left."

Harry was silent for a long moment after his brother revealed his plan, head bowed and face burning underneath his face mask.

"Anô..." Harry started hesitantly, "I... I don't think that will work, Kakashi-niisan..."

The ANBU mask turned towards him, dark eye sockets penetrating in their unblinking gaze.

Harry bowed his head a little lower to be certain his flushed face was covered with his untidy white hair, "Um... See... I can't really... read... English."

Kakashi frowned at him, "I remember seeing you write before, when you first came to Konoha."

Harry took a moment to remember. "Well, I can write my name," he agreed, although he wasn't entirely sure he could do even that without help, "… Maybe… And I remember… some of the letters... I think. But even before I left I didn't really know anything more than that." He scratched his head nervously and continued, "My aunt and uncle didn't teach me at all, so I only started to learn when I was five years old... and that was in a class of more than twenty students, so I didn't learn too much there, either..."

Kakashi mused silently for a moment. "Your English is written in Romaji," he started uncertainly.

Harry nodded—Romaji was sometimes used in advertisements and brand names and things, but he didn't know much of that, either.

Kakashi's mask tilted again, "Between the two of us, we should be able to sound out the words. You'll be able to tell what they say, then. It will take longer... We'll take two hours of sleep first, and a few more hours after we find the information we need if we can afford it."

Harry nodded, still feeling embarrassed, "Okay. Should we go back now?" It was only afternoon, but it felt like he hadn't slept for days.

Kakashi nodded slightly, turning to lead the way back out of the forest. Harry stood up and followed him, looking forward to some much needed rest.

* * *

"Anô... Kakashi-niisan," Harry started hesitantly as they approached the doors to the large stone fortress they had discovered made up the school of Hogwarts.

The ANBU didn't so much as glance at him, but Harry knew he'd heard.

"Where are we going to sleep?" The twelve-year-old finished.

Kakashi still didn't answer, mainly because he didn't know, either—if they had to, they could always rough it on the floor or in the forest. The Jounin pushed open one of the large front doors as if it were as weightless as a paper shoji, allowing Harry to catch it as it slowly began to settle again behind him. Harry grunted a little as he caught the weight, but pushed himself inside, regardless. He then nearly ran into his brother's back, stopping short just in time.

"Niisan, what is it?" Harry asked, sidestepping to look around his brother, one hand on his kunai pouch.

"The man from outside Dumbledore's office," the ANBU supplied in an undertone, mask staring fixedly at the man standing to the side of the hall.

Harry followed his gaze. The man was dressed in gray robes, which Harry could tell had been worn and patched many times, even in the dim lighting in the hall. His skin was pale and lined—signs Harry recognized as being from hard experience and pain more than age, as many shinobi looked the same—and his light brown hair was sprinkled with silver. Then the man's gaze shifted slightly to meet with his, and his expression lightened a bit.

"Harry," he started, moving forward.

Harry eyed him warily, but said nothing as he approached. Out of the corner of his eye, the Genin saw his brother slip weapons into his hands, but the ANBU made no other threatening movements. Clearly, he wanted to remain undercover until they'd made their escape.

The man was looking him over closely, soaking in every detail, and Harry felt a little uncomfortable under the stare. At last, he interrupted, consciously switching over to English with some effort, "Hello."

The man smiled slightly, having the decency to look a little abashed, "Ah, I was staring, forgive me. I haven't seen you since before you changed... it's hard to believe it's really you, Harry."

Harry frowned, "What do you mean… before I changed? Who are you?"

"I'm sorry," the man apologized again, "I'm Remus Lupin, I was a friend of your parents, Harry. When you were a baby you had black hair, like James, it wasn't until that night that it turned white."

Harry's frown twitched down further, "I always had white hair." He was a Hatake, his family had had white hair for countless generations. He'd heard that as an infant his hair had been black, but didn't particularly understand how that could be—unless it had been one of the countless lies he'd been told by the Dursleys. He changed the subject quickly, "Do you know where he and—we are... staying?"

The man looked a little distraught at the coolness of his tone, but he soon smiled again, "Yes, of course. The House Elves have prepared some guest rooms for you near the teacher halls. This way."

Harry paused briefly to let Kakashi know what they were doing before the pair of them followed.

After a few awkward moments in which they traveled in silence, Remus began to explain things about the castle as they went.

"That's the Great Hall," he pointed out first on their way to the staircases, "All of our meals are served there. There's dinner from five to six and breakfast from eight to nine, but if you want to sleep longer it would be possible to get food delivered straight to your rooms."

Once on the second floor, the man led the way down a corridor. "Most of your classrooms will be on this floor," he explained as they passed doors—Harry hurried to keep pace with him, interested in hearing what he had to say. If nothing else, it was always useful to know one's surroundings thoroughly.

"The paintings," the man motioned towards a frame full of half a dozen laughing women in brightly colored dresses—the women looked up to wave and titter at them, "As you've probably already noticed, move around. Most of them sleep at night, but they're quite active during the day. If you ever get lost, you can just ask one of them and they'll point you in the right direction."

Harry stared at the portraits they passed, wondering how they worked—like a movie-player, perhaps. Several waved at him or tried to strike up conversations, but Harry hurried after the others.

"Here we are," Remus said at last, turning into another spiraling staircase. They only made it to the second landing when he stopped at a pair of doors. "The passwords aren't set yet, but we'll set them to your names for now. Harry, this one will be yours," he motioned to the door on the left, "Just stand in front of it and say your name when I tell you to. Ready?"

Eyeing the man warily, Harry stepped in front of the door.

Pointing his wand at the wood, Remus gave it a flick, "And now."

"Hatake Harry," the Genin supplied clearly.

Remus gave another small flick of his wand and Harry could hear the faint click of a locking mechanism. The man smiled tightly at him, looking a little awkward, "Okay, good. And now for your... friend." His smile faltered as he turned uncertainly to the masked-nin—who he'd been avoiding looking at ever since the staring contest in the entry.

Harry quickly relayed the instructions to him and Kakashi gave first his brother, then Remus, a long stare before slowly moving to stand in front of the door.

Remus hesitated, then flicked his wand again, "Now, Harry."

"Ima," Harry relayed needlessly for his brother.

Kakashi didn't hesitate in annunciating, "Inu-san."

Remus hesitated once more before flicking his wand again. The clicking sound once more verified that the password had been set correctly and the man looked between the two shinobi. He smiled.

"That's all there is to it," the man announced, "You two are probably tired, so you should get some rest."

Harry relayed the information to Kakashi and the two started to open their doors when Remus spoke again.

"Harry, can I speak with you a moment longer?" He asked uncertainly.

Harry glanced at Kakashi, who had paused when the English man spoke. "Eto, he wants to talk to me a little more, niisan," he explained quietly, "I'll turn-in in a few minutes, okay?"

The ANBU nodded. "Be careful," he warned, "I'll see you in two hours."

Harry nodded with a small, grim smile under his mask. "Two hours," he confirmed. He felt like he could sleep for eighteen hours and still wake up tired.

Without another word, Kakashi headed inside, closing his door behind him. Harry turned back to the man.

There was an awkward moment of silence before Harry broke it. "You said you want to talk..."

"I just wanted to check on how you've been," the man admitted sheepishly, "Professor Dumbledore told us you'd been sent abroad. We were really worried when you didn't come back for school."

Harry thought a moment. He couldn't give away much about the village but if he didn't say anything he'd put himself—and Kakashi, maybe—under suspicion. "I just graduated."

"Didn't you want to learn about your magic, though?" Remus pressed bemusedly, "Weren't you at all interested?"

"... No," Harry answered blandly, "I... don't like magic."

"I see," the man mused pensively, "You must have been happy, at least, if you didn't want to leave... right?"

Harry nodded in way of answer and moved towards his door, "Good night."

"One more thing, Harry, if you don't mind," Remus put in quickly. Harry paused, looking back at him expectantly, "That man you came with... who is he?"

"You heard," Harry returned, "He calls himself Inu-san."

"But who is he?" Remus persisted, "Professor Dumbledore was only expecting you."

Harry snorted, "Dumbledore-san was wrong. Inu-san is my... boss. Goodnight, Lupin-san."

With those as his last words, Harry slipped into his room, not allowing the man further time to protest. Remus stared at the closed door for a moment before releasing a sigh and turning to leave.

* * *

Harry felt even more tired when he woke up than he'd been when he went to sleep. It took a great deal of effort to drag himself out of bed and onto his feet.

It was a small, comfortable room he'd been given. A plush bed was pushed against one wall and a desk against the wall opposite it. There was a dresser and a mirror he hadn't paid much attention to earlier, and a table next to the door. Harry paused at the table when he noticed a small basin and a jug of water.

Pouring some of the water into the basin, the boy gratefully splashed his face with the cool water. It helped him to wake up a little, and he headed out the door, slipping his mask up as he went—he rarely wore it for so long at one time and was getting a little sick of it, but it was best to reveal as little as possible for now.

He was surprised to see no sign of Kakashi in the dark hall, but turned towards the other door after ensuring no one was around.

"Inu-san," he muttered self-consciously, and heard the soft clicking sound of the lock disengaging. Carefully, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door slightly.

"Niisan...?" He called out tentatively, a precaution against getting stuck in the stomach with a kunai or some other pointy instrument of death.

"Yo," Kakashi raised a single hand in a wave of acknowledgement and Harry stepped the rest of the way into the room, closing the door behind him.

Kakashi's room was almost identical to his own. The only differences Harry noticed was the lack of water on the small table next to his door, and that Kakashi's cloak had been thrown over his mirror. The ANBU still had his mask and full armor on, and was lounging on his bed with a small, orange book open in front of his face. Harry frowned at it.

"You're reading _that_ again?" He asked disapprovingly, "How long have you been up?"

Kakashi shrugged.

Harry's eyes narrowed and his frown deepened a little, "Did you sleep at all?"

"Never mind that," Kakashi excused, "I found the library. Let's go." He stood, pocketing the book somewhere underneath his armor and grabbed his cloak, swinging it efficiently over his shoulder before heading to the door. Harry found himself following before he even consciously thought of it.

The ANBU waited until they were in the hall before continuing in a low undertone, "Our rooms are being watched. Did anything strange happen while you were asleep? Do you still have all your equipment?"

Frowning, Harry checked. After a moment, the boy nodded. "It's all here," he confirmed.

Behind his double masks, Kakashi frowned slightly. "There was something in my room," he stated, "About half an hour ago. It was probably meant to disarm us. Maybe it thought better of it after I nearly killed it."

"Only nearly?" Harry asked in confusion—if his brother wanted to kill someone, it usually worked.

"I captured it with the intent of holding it until you were awake and then interrogating it," Kakashi supplied coolly, "It would not stop squawking, though, so I decided to eliminate it, instead. When it saw my knife, it disappeared."

Harry blinked. "Disappeared?" He echoed, "You mean... like a jutsu?"

Kakashi's masked head shook slightly, "No. It made no hand signs and there was no smoke—just a cracking sound."

Harry frowned—the description sounded oddly familiar. "Magic?" He asked.

Kakashi nodded. "Probably," he agreed unhappily.

A few minutes later Kakashi stopped, frowning at a stone wall. Harry stopped beside him, wondering what he was doing. After nearly a minute, the younger Hatake had to speak up.

"Niisan?" He asked hesitantly.

Kakashi stepped forwards, putting his hands on the wall and feeling around a little.

Harry squinted and peered at the blank wall—he didn't see anything remarkable. "What are you looking at?" He asked, wondering if the ANBU was using his Sharingan.

"It was here earlier," the older teen muttered, still feeling around the wall.

Harry looked at the wall again, but didn't see anything, "What?"

Kakashi stepped back and formed the Ram with his hands, "**Kai!**"

Nothing happened. The wall remained quite intact and didn't change into anything else. Kakashi stepped back and crossed his arms, frowning pointedly at the wall.

"Niisan," Harry repeated in confusion. When Kakashi still didn't respond, he spoke a little more insistently, "_Inu_-san."

At last the ANBU's head turned toward him slightly, expression unreadable behind the white mask. Harry raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"... There was a door here," Kakashi said at length, sounding annoyed and turning to look at the wall again.

"The library?" Harry asked.

Kakashi nodded slightly, hooded head bobbing in a way that might have been comical on anyone but a member of the ANBU Black-Ops. You didn't laugh at someone who could kill you just as easily as blink.

Harry scratched the back of his head, "Well... are you sure? I mean, it can't have just... _moved_."

ANBU masks were emotionless; they couldn't show if their wearer was happy or sad or excited or surprised... but somehow, they always did manage to convey when their wearer was angry, and Harry immediately regretted his comment, even though it was true.

"Of _course_ I'm sure," the ANBU growled—Harry was reminded a little too late that Kakashi hadn't slept in more than twenty-four hours.

Turning back to the wall, Kakashi asked the question Harry was glad he didn't have to ask, "So where is it? It's not Genjutsu, I would have been able to tell, and I can't find anything hidden by normal techniques... Either these _wizards_ are a lot more clever than we thought, or something is very wrong with this place."

Harry, recalling the eccentric man that had met them, was willing to bet on the latter. He didn't say as much, though. Kakashi would be putting his money on the former—_never underestimate your enemies._

"Excuse me!" A high, snappish voice said suddenly in English, causing both ninja to whirl around in surprise.

There was no one in the hallway, though, and they looked both ways—and up and down, for good measure.

The voice came again, "What do you think you're doing? Dallying in the hallway and snooping around like that. Awfully suspicious, if you ask me."

As she spoke, their eyes were dragged to the apparent source, a young woman in an auburn petticoat with golden rings in her hair. She brandished a closed umbrella like a bat, and was peering at the two of them with obvious dislike. Out of a picture frame.

Harry couldn't help it if his mouth dropped open, and Kakashi was unable to keep the shock from his eyes, which nearly doubled their usual size. It was a woman. In a picture. Talking directly to them, and apparently waiting for a reply.

She seemed further annoyed by their staring, "Why, I never! What do you mean, gaping like that? It's very rude, you know."

Harry's mouth took several tries to get working, "S-sorry," was all he could force out in the end, and it sounded more like an odd gasping sound that a fish might make if it were being fried alive than an actual word.

The pictures they had passed earlier had moved, and even talked, but Harry had assumed it was pre-recorded, somehow. There were movie theaters back in Fire Country, and his old house in Surrey had had a telly, but that didn't even come close to comparing to this. The woman was actually reacting to what they did and said, it seemed—it would be impossible to record something like that ahead of time, wouldn't it?

"I should say you're sorry," the woman agreed coolly, looking at both boys with equal amounts of distaste and scorn, "What are you two doing here, anyway? Who are you? I should let the Headmaster know."

"Wait!" Harry called out quickly, finally getting his head on straight at the threat of being reported—_could_ a painting report them? Harry wasn't willing to risk it. "We're... guests of Dumbledore-san," he supplied, pleased when the woman hesitated, "We're... looking for the... the _books_… um…"

The woman peered at him closely, then snorted, resting her umbrella on the ground demurely, "Well, if you're looking for the library, you're in the wrong tower, aren't you? It's not here—it's been moved to the north-east tower, Gryffindor wing, I do believe."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean it's been moved?" He asked, "When was it moved?"

"Oh, earlier," the woman supplied vaguely, now appearing quite bored with the conversation, "It does that sometimes, of course."

"Er, right," Harry agreed, because she seemed to expect him to. He offered her a feeble smile—not that she could see it well through his mask, but it was the thought that counted, really. "Thank you."

"See that you get cleaned up a little while you're at it," the woman called after him scornfully as he turned to walk away.

Kakashi followed him until they were far enough from the painting that they felt safe to talk, voices low.

"She said it moved," Harry hissed to Kakashi, "Some north-east tower in a _Gryffindor_ wing..."

Kakashi frowned, not giving any reply as he chose to glower down a curious looking man in a purple shirt with a frilly white cravat round his neck. The man quickly turned away, pretending to look at a plaque painted next to him while peering at the pair out of the corner of his eye.

Now that he'd started looking for them, he noticed many of the paintings had people inside of them, watching him. More of Dumbledore's sentinels, the ANBU suspected.

It took an extra hour and a half of exploration to find the library. When they did, it was nowhere near the north-east portion of the school, as they had been told, which left both shinobi in a bit of a foul mood, but they set out searching the shelves for atlases and maps nonetheless.

* * *

Harry let out a long groan and sat back in his seat. "There's nothing in here," he complained, frowning at the piles of map books he and Kakashi had spent the last several frustrating hours studying. It was early in the morning now and fatigue was beginning to get to the Genin.

They'd found _Ministry of Magic_ on a map without too much trouble, but the problem came in when they tried to find where they were now. None of the maps had so much as hinted at the location of _Hogwarts_. They'd even looked all over the maps of other parts of the world, despite Hogwarts being supposedly located in Scotland.

"It must be hidden," Kakashi mused, rolling stiff shoulders uncomfortably, "Konoha and the other villages aren't marked, either." Even the countries they were located in had been suspiciously absent from the maps.

"That would be too easy if they were," Harry grumbled. With a sigh, he leaned forward. They had to figure this out. With a second sigh, he entangled his fingers in his hair roughly, trying to think of anything that could help them.

Kakashi was thinking as well, wondering if the old summoner had mentioned anything that would be useful. Harry, of course, had only translated bits and pieces of what the man said, so he had to rely completely on his brother's memory. Harry wasn't an idiot, but Kakashi would have felt much better if he was able to do the thinking himself.

"Did Dumbledore tell you anything else?" He asked at last, resigning himself to relying on his brother's memory, "Anything about our location?"

Harry shot him a glare born out of too little sleep and too much stress. "I'm _trying_ to remember!" He snapped.

Kakashi frowned under his masks.

Harry sighed again. "Sorry," he grumbled, "But I _am_ trying."

"Keep trying," Kakashi said, "We only have two days left at our disposal."

"I know," Harry growled, annoyed.

They both looked up at a sound from the other end of the library. The table they'd chosen to study at was in the far back corner, out of the immediate line of sight of the door. It gave them a tactical advantage. The people they'd met so far weren't exactly subtle in their movements, so chances were they would notice anyone who tried to disturb them before they were seen.

With a silent sign to Harry, Kakashi slipped out of his chair and soundlessly moved through the room to get behind the intruder. Harry waited only a few seconds before jerking up his mask and following, putting all his skills into moving as quietly as he could.

A startled shout around the corner drove Harry to move faster and he cleared the end of the bookshelf to find Kakashi holding a kunai to the neck of the man they'd met the afternoon before. It took a moment for Harry to recall his name—Remus Lupin.

"Lupin-san," he acknowledged coolly.

The man was paler than he'd seemed the night before—understandable, really, since he was being effectively restrained by a member of ANBU.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, the words leaving him slowly as he reminded himself of the need to speak in English—it came a little easier than it had the day before.

"I..." The man's eyes glanced at the white mask over his shoulder before hastily returning to Harry again. "I was looking for you," he admitted awkwardly, uncomfortably aware of the knife threatening to cut his throat, "I was going to see if you and your... superior wanted breakfast brought to you. It won't be served in the Great Hall for a while, yet, but if you're hungry I can have the House Elves whip something up..."

Harry frowned, trying to ascertain the truth in the man's words. It was one of the things he was good at, and he slowly nodded.

Kakashi eased the blade away from the man's neck and released him. Lupin was quick to put distance between himself and the other man—Kakashi had removed his cloak while they'd been studying maps, and for the first time Lupin was able to see his slim, muscular form covered by filthy white armor. More than ever he wondered what, exactly, this person was. Based with the mask and weapons he wore, Lupin's first thought was that he was some kind of warrior, but even that didn't quite do him justice.

"Can you have breakfast... brought up here?" Harry asked, startling the man out of his thoughts. He didn't want to risk leaving the library while they still had answers to find—they might be forced to waste another two hours looking for it again.

"Ah—yes," Remus answered, trying to keep the nervous edge out of his voice and hesitantly turning to look at Harry, "Yes, of course... the house elves can send it right to your table if you want."

Harry nodded—he was starving. "Yes, thanks."

The older man offered a shaky smile and edged a little closer to Harry—further still from the masked man. "Er... so, what are you studying?" He asked carefully.

Harry frowned, looking at his brother for a long moment, then back at the man. They hadn't wanted to ask Dumbledore, and this man was obviously a subordinate of Dumbledore's. But they were quickly running out of time and options—it might be the best bet.

When Harry looked back again, Kakashi gave him a slight nod, as if knowing his brother's question already. Harry smiled slightly in relief.

"We're looking for... where we are," he supplied, turning to lead the way back to their table.

Lupin frowned, casting the ANBU one last anxious look before following Harry. "You're at Hogwarts," he supplied, "Professor Dumbledore told you, didn't he?"

"But where _is_ Hogwarts?" Harry asked with a frown, "We thought it was in... Scotland, but it's not on the maps."

The man smiled slightly as they approached the book strewn table. "Hogwarts is Unplottable," he announced, "That is, the spells cast around it don't allow its location to be recorded anywhere."

Harry's frown deepened, "Then how do people find it?"

"It's right next to Hogsmeade," Lupin supplied, "One of the wizard villages. Students usually come by train—the Hogwarts Express goes straight from King's Cross to Hogsmeade station. They take carriages or boats up to the castle."

The man frowned, pulling one of the books towards himself. "Hogsmeade should be in here," he mused thoughtfully, flipping back a few pages. A small smile crossed his lips as he stopped, tapping the page with one index finger. "There," he said with satisfaction, looking up at Harry expectantly.

Harry leaned over to get a better look at the point. "That's where we are?" He asked, just to be sure, "Hogwarts is there?"

"Around here," Lupin confirmed pleasantly, "We're about one and a half kilometers from the actual village."

Harry nodded in understand and with a quick look at Kakashi, he explained what the wizard had said. In seconds, Kakashi was leaning over the book on Lupin's other side—the wizard looked distinctly uncomfortable, listening to the two exchange rapid words in a language he'd never heard before—the ANBU's low and clipped tone and Harry's voice still a little high with youth and excitement.

Suddenly they both stopped and looked at him. "When can we eat?" Harry asked abruptly, bright green eyes all of a sudden reminding Remus of Lily when she was on the verge of solving a particularly challenging problem.

He was shocked for a moment at the unexpected reminder of his friends, and it took him several seconds to work out a reply. "I—I'll go let the... uh, the house elves know." He took one last look at the two boys, then made a quick retreat to call a house elf. He wasn't quite brave enough to call one in front of the boys—he didn't want to risk startling the larger one… and earlier that night the house elves had point-blank refused to go anywhere near the mysterious, masked man.

* * *

"... Almost five hundred kilometers," Kakashi mused, referencing the small scale in the corner of the page. "We'd have to keep a steady pace of at least 16 kilometers per hour, with breaks." He cast a calculating look at the younger boy.

Harry tried not to wince. He was pretty fast, but keeping it up for a long time wouldn't be easy. Still, if that's what they had to do, what choice did he have? He nodded gravely.

"We'll have breakfast, switch with our bunshin, then head out," Kakashi decided.

Harry nodded again and looked anxiously up at the ANBU, "Will that leave us with enough time?"

"It'll have to be enough," Kakashi said seriously, "We'll be traveling for the next forty hours or so with very little rest, and after that we'll still need to find a way to get one of these _portkey_."

Harry nodded once more and began closing books. "You know the way, right?" He asked, pausing before reaching for the two books they'd been relying on the most—one was a map of the whole island country, and the other was a more detailed atlas of London.

Kakashi nodded and Harry closed the books, hurrying to return them to their shelves. Lupin caught sight of him and changed his return path to give him a hand.

"All done, then?" The man asked amiably, glad that the other man wasn't hovering over his shoulder.

Harry nodded. "Thank you," he said formally, "It's... strange. I know I used to... live here... but I don't know much about the country... outside of Surrey."

Remus smiled faintly, pleased with the boy's apparent frankness. When he wasn't around that other one, he was actually a pleasant child. "Well, you were young when you left."

Harry snorted in disbelief. "I was six," he corrected.

The man glanced at him in confusion as they stacked the books back where they belonged. "Six is a little young to know about things like that," he said carefully.

Harry hummed without conviction. Kakashi had been a Chuunin when he was six. Harry was twelve, almost thirteen, and was still only a Genin. Kakashi had pointed out—once—that the first six years of Harry's life really couldn't be counted since he hadn't been exposed to anything like shinobi life, but Harry realized that even with that excuse, he came up woefully short measured next to his brother.

The boy pushed those thoughts from his mind and put the last of his books away. "We're going to sleep after eating," he told the man with a yawn that was completely natural, "Didn't sleep much last night."

Remus nodded in understanding—the boy was looking tired, with shadows under his eyes and drooping eyelids. Of course, he must have been up most of the night trying to figure out where Hogwarts was.

"I'll see if the house elves have the food yet," he said, turning to leave the library again.

Harry frowned slightly, "That's the second time you said that. What are they?" Remus looked at him and he added, "House elves."

"Oh... House elves are a type of magical creature," Remus replied, "They're... well, they're a kind of funny little creature that looks a bit like a misshapen man with long ears and leathery skin... they like to work in houses and things, so we have a group of them staffing the castle, cooking and cleaning."

"I see," Harry said, even though he wasn't sure he did.

Remus smiled uncertainly and moved away again, "Well, I'll go check on your breakfast."

Harry nodded and turned back to the table he'd been working at with Kakashi. The older boy had his mask tilted to the side slightly, and the cloth mask he always wore was lowered to his chin as he crammed the rest of a nutrition bar in his mouth. Harry rolled his eyes as the mask was quickly pulled up again and the ANBU plate returned to its place over his face.

"You don't trust them," Harry intoned bluntly.

"I can't even understand what they're saying," Kakashi pointed out, "In my profession, trusting is the same as giving your enemy a kunai and painting a target on your back."

Harry rubbed the back of his head and slumped down in one of the chairs. "I guess," he agreed, "But they've had plenty of chances to do something to us, and nothing bad has happened yet."

The ANBU stared at him.

The boy colored a little, "I mean... well, besides not letting us go home. I think they really want our help, so they probably won't poison us or anything."

"They want _your_ help," Kakashi corrected.

"Well... yeah," Harry agreed.

"They're afraid of me," Kakashi added.

Harry smirked under his mask, eyes lighting up a little in amusement, "Well, yeah, who wouldn't be? You're still in your uniform, _and_ you've still got blood on you, _and_ you've attacked most of the people we've met so far."

The ANBU mask tilted in amusement, "True."

He didn't say anything else, as a moment later Remus walked up to them with a large tray of food.

"Alright!" Harry exclaimed, forgetting to use English in his excitement—his stomach grumbled loudly at the sight of so much food. He could recognize eggs and pancakes and toast with several types of jellies. There was a bowl of fruit and a pitcher of something—he couldn't see what. He hadn't seen such a well-endowed breakfast in years. Not since he'd been _making_ it for the Dursleys.

Remus smiled vaguely at the boy's enthusiasm and placed the tray on the table, handing both males a plate and glass. "Help yourself," he told Harry.

Harry did so, immediately piling his plate high with pancakes and sausages and eggs and smothering it all with plenty of syrup.

"... You're going to be sick," Kakashi commented, watching in distaste as the food mounted higher on his brother's plate. He'd never seen Harry eat so much in one sitting before.

"I haven't eaten since _lunch yesterday_!" Harry pointed out, "I'm _starving_!"

Kakashi chose not to comment on his poor choice of words as Harry reached for the English cutlery—a fork and knife like he hadn't used in a long time—and barely paused long enough to say, "Itadakimasu!" and jerk down his mask before digging in.

Remus watched him dig in with amusement for several seconds before noticing that the older boy wasn't even touching the food placed before them. He frowned at Harry in concern.

"Isn't your... superior going to be eating?"

Harry quickly swallowed what was in his mouth and looked up, his hand positioned to keep his face from easy viewing—just in case. "He ate already," he supplied blithely. "He doesn't..." the boy paused, finding himself at a lack of words and thought furiously for the way to express himself, "Believe you won't hurt him."

It took several additional seconds for Remus to understand the implications of the statement. He frowned deeper. "He thinks we'd poison him?" He asked in surprise, looking at the masked figure, "Even though we didn't mean for him to come, he is still our guest and will be treated appropriately."

Harry shrugged it off and reached for the pitcher, taking a look at the orange colored liquid as he poured it into his glass. "He's... not friendly," he supplied, "What is this?"

"Huh? Oh, pumpkin juice," Remus supplied distractedly, still worrying over the second young man.

"Pumpkin?" Harry repeated in surprise, "Like pie?" He took a tentative sip of the sweet liquid and his eyes widened in surprise—it was a little odd, but good. He dove back into his plate of food with renewed gusto. For the next forty hours—probably longer—he'd have nothing to eat but dry nutrition bars and anything Kakashi felt like killing on the way, so he was going to make the most of his last civilized meal.

* * *

Harry was uncomfortably full as Remus escorted them back to their rooms twenty minutes later. He was sure Kakashi had rolled his eyes at him, and he was more sleepy than ever, but he stubbornly refused to admit to his discomfort. After all, he _had_ said he wouldn't get sick.

Remus left them as they disappeared into their rooms, and once inside Harry quickly formed a bunshin.

It wasn't a skill Harry was particularly good at. He often missed little things, as Kakashi (and his sensei) lectured him on time and again, and his chakra control was sloppy at best, but a puff of smoke later he was staring at a copy of himself that would fool anyone but the most observant of shinobi. Harry was satisfied.

"Okay, you'll be staying here," he directed needlessly, pointing to the bed, "Just... pretend to sleep and that should be enough."

The clone nodded and lay down on the bed, on top of the covers. Harry frowned a little, but that would have to be good enough. Regular bunshin couldn't affect the world around them like kage bunshin could. It couldn't pick things up or move things, so the covers would never stay over its unsubstantial body.

"Ready to go?"

Harry startled at the voice behind him and turned with surprise to see Kakashi in the shadowed corner of his room. He winced a little under his mask—the ANBU looked creepy in the shadowed folds of his cloak, the only thing standing out being the red and white mask he wore. He nodded.

Kakashi indicated the door and they both slipped out silently, moving down stone corridors with all the stealth of light-footed cats.

It wasn't difficult to find their way out of the castle, although it took a bit longer than it should have. The corridors, Kakashi had commented dryly, seemed to have rearranged themselves since the last time they'd come that way. Still, it was fairly simple to continue going in the same direction until they found a window low enough to the ground that they could jump out without being hurt.

It was turning into a bright summer day, although a chill that Harry didn't remember from his summers in Surrey hung in the air. They stayed low as they crossed over the grassy field between the castle and the gate in the wall that surrounded it, and Harry used every trick he could think of to move unseen.

They paused in front of the wall, about twenty meters west of the main gate, and Kakashi turned to Harry. "Ready?" He asked the younger boy.

Harry nodded and Kakashi took the initiative, leaping with a small burst of chakra. He was aiming to land on top and jump again to the ground beyond, however the second he passed above the boundary, an odd, tingly feeling swept through his body. It was all the ANBU could do to catch himself on the wall and land safely, and it took him only a second longer under the influence of the strange effect to realize what it was. Immediately, he turned his attention down to Harry.

"Stop!" He called out, just in time for the crouched boy to abort his jump.

Frowning in confusion, Harry straightened and looked up curiously, "What is it?"

Kakashi remained sullenly silent for several seconds, mentally berating himself for his carelessness, then reluctantly admitted, "My chakra's been drained." More accurately, it was _still_ being drained, and he could feel himself getting weaker by the second, but the continued drain was much more sluggish than the initial reaction had been. He needed to get away from this wall before he was too exhausted to move at all.

Harry's eyes widened in alarm, "Do you want me to do something?"

"Hmm..." Kakashi mustered his strength to pull himself back off the wall, finding himself without even the strength to stand anymore. Harry could only watch with horror as his brother tumbled from the wall, hitting the stone structure twice before finally landing on the ground with a sickening _thunk_.

The twelve-year-old immediately rushed to his side, hovering over him uncertainly, not wanting to hurt him further by touching him. Kakashi was sprawled face down on the grass, and his shoulders were moving slowly with his breath.

"Kakashi!" Harry shouted, forgetting everything about code-names in his worry, "Kakashi-niisan!"

The ANBU stirred slightly with a groan.

"Kakashi! What should I do?" The Genin asked frantically, still hovering over him without quite touching him.

Kakashi groaned again, using what little strength was left in him to attempt to turn over. He couldn't even manage that, but Harry, seeing what he was trying to do, helped him to roll over. Kakashi hissed in pain when the boy clumsily touched his shoulder, but clenched his teeth and endured being man-handled until he was looking up at his brother's concerned face.

The ANBU's mask had cracked a little—probably during one of the impacts with the wall—and Harry reached out tentatively to move it away, feeling like he was committing a horrible taboo as he did so. There was blood smeared on the older teen's face, but not a lot so it probably wasn't anything too bad, Harry hoped.

"Kakashi-niisan...?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Help... me get back... to our rooms," Kakashi muttered weakly, struggling to move his arm enough to reach the pouches he wore at his belt.

Harry followed the movement with his eyes and was quick to help, "What do you need?"

"... Soldier pills," Kakashi grunted, "Second on... on the right."

Harry reached for the indicated pouch and hesitated, "Soldier pills? Is that... is that safe?"

Kakashi laughed breathlessly—every breath hurt and he was sure he'd cracked a rib or two—"Of course not... But... it's necessary."

Harry admitted he probably wouldn't be able to get Kakashi back to their rooms by himself, but the chakra enhancing drug could have devastating effects on Kakashi's body if he was really that weak already. Harry knew a bit about how they worked, and they tapped into and amplified the remaining chakra in the body. Unfortunately, if someone's chakra was too low, it would dip into the chakra set aside by the body to maintain life, and if it dipped too far into that reserve, the outcome could be deadly.

The twelve-year-old quickly fumbled with the latch on Kakashi's pouch and pulled out one of the small round pills. Instead of giving it to his brother, though, he yanked down his own mask and slipped it in his mouth, feeling the energy flooding through his coils almost immediately. It was also dangerous to use when there was no deficit of chakra, as the body was hard-pressed to handle all the extra chakra running through it, but that was a risk Harry was willing to take.

With excess chakra pouring through every part of him, Harry was able to lift the mass of muscle that was his brother relatively easily, something he really couldn't do under normal circumstances.

"Idiot," the ANBU sighed, but made no effort to resist his being moved.

Harry hurried up to the castle, wanting to get his brother back in bed as soon as possible. He was also worried about the strain on his own body—hopefully he wouldn't collapse from overuse before he found their rooms.

The trip back was long and winding, but it didn't take Harry as long to find their rooms as he'd expected it to. Following familiar landmarks, he was able to find them in less than an hour—which was good since by then he was feeling exhausted and sore.

He put Kakashi in his own room, since he knew there was water there, and set the older teen on his bed with a relieved sigh. The blood on his face, the twelve-year-old soon found, was from a battered nose—already swollen and probably broken.

Harry clumsily wrapped a few other scrapes, trying his best to be gentle, but wasn't sure what to do about broken bones or anything else, besides trying not to aggravate them. It also didn't help that Kakashi had fallen asleep on him during the time it took for him to get back to their rooms.

The boy leaned back on his heels, regarding his brother uncertainly. He needed a medic, that much was obvious, but the ANBU would be furious if he brought him to the school nurse, especially without his permission.

Harry chewed on his lower lip indecisively. At length, he chose to err on the side of caution. He'd wait until Kakashi woke up, then he'd ask him about seeing the nurse. At the very least, Kakashi could tell him what to do about his injuries.

Decided, the boy sat back to rest, the adrenaline rush from Kakashi's fall and the soldier pill slowly draining out of him and leaving him even more exhausted than before. It wasn't long before the twelve-year-old was asleep.


	5. Playing Along

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter. If anyone has told you otherwise, don't listen to them, it's lies, all lies!

Tuesday, August 12th really jumped up on me this week. I tried hard to get this up earlier today, but things happened. (Things like me running the battery out on my car which added an unpredictable hour and a half to my commute home and destroyed most of my free time today.) And it's just been a busy few weeks in general. But I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry you all had to wait so long. Yes, very sorry! The next update won't be up any faster, I'm afraid. In fact, from now on, we should probably assume there'll be at least three weeks between updates. So expect the next update on September 2nd. If it's not up, check my profile for significant delays. If there are none listed, I may just be late posting it that night. (Like tonight.)

Thanks to all my readers out there, and especially to those who review. I like hearing your opinions and questions, even if I can't answer all of them. (Spoilers!) Thanks for your continued support and patience. Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Chapter 5 – Playing Along

"Kakashi!" The young man turned at the cheerful voice, and found himself looking at Obito. The boy was exactly how he remembered him in life, down to the blue and orange jacket and garish tinted goggles. The Uchiha grinned and waved him over, "Come on!"

Kakashi followed without question, taking to the trees right behind his old teammate. It wasn't until they dropped into a clearing that he thought to question his actions.

"Where are we going?" He asked the other boy, keeping stride with him.

The thirteen-year-old looked up with a cheesy grin, eyes squinted a little, "Ah, you know, here an' there. Relax, it'll be fun!"

Kakashi resigned himself to following until the forest clearing opened up to a whole field, stretching wide in front of him under a suddenly overcast sky. Frowning, Kakashi looked back at his teammate, but the other boy was already running ahead, calling over his shoulder for him to follow. Kakashi ran after him.

He came to a halt in front of a rectangular hole in the ground, staring at it nervously for a moment before looking at Obito again. "Obito, what is this? What's going on?"

The thirteen-year-old drew himself up and puffed his chest out importantly. "We have something we need to tell you, Kakashi," he said with more seriousness than Kakashi knew he possessed.

"We?" Kakashi repeated dryly.

"We," Obito repeated with a nod, "The shinobi of Team 4."

Some instinct made Kakashi look up, across the hole, to find himself staring in surprise at the cheerful face of his departed teacher. The blond grinned widely and waved at him. At his side was Rin, a young woman of seventeen with light brown hair and a shy, but friendly, demeanor. She smiled at him, as well, bobbing her head in a small nod. Kakashi looked back to Obito.

Seeing his subject understood, Obito continued, "Kakashi, there's no easy way to say this, and you don't really like beating around the bush, anyway, so I'll just come out and say it."

Kakashi waited expectantly. When Obito didn't continue, he prompted with an annoyed, "Well?" He was sure he had better things to do than stand around a grave with three of his dead teammates.

"Actually... heh heh," the Uchiha laughed, rubbing the back of his head, "I guess it would be easier just to show you."

Kakashi barely had a second to be confused before he felt a push to his back. Normally, even a good shove would be hard pressed to put the graceful ANBU out of balance, but he fell forward despite himself, twisting around as he fell headlong into the deep, dark hole.

Above him, he could see the cheerful faces of his teacher and teammates, now distorted as they had been in death. The right side of Obito's body was gruesomely misshapen and Rin's face was battered and bloody. His teacher's skin was pale, eyes sunken and dark, smiling lips tinted purple.

He closed his eyes against the gruesome farce and darkness enveloped him as he continued to fall. But even the blackness didn't offer relief. He saw face after face, some jeering, some laughing, some crying, some leering, staring out at him from the shadows around him.

Dark spots of blood splattered some, streams of it ran like rivers down the faces of others. Some were trembling with fear and others purple with anger. And Kakashi recognized every one of the people he killed.

He kept falling.

* * *

Harry bit his lip nervously, hovering over the form of his brother and again debating what to do. The older boy's eyebrows were low on his forehead, drawn together and tense under the sweaty brow. He was thrashing about in his sleep, quiet gasps of pain occasionally escaping his parted lips.

His face was tinted red with fever—things had gotten much worse while he'd been asleep. At last he had to admit that he didn't have much of a choice anymore. Kakashi _needed_ medical attention. He'd put a damp cloth on his forehead, and applied first aid to his obvious injuries, but that wouldn't be enough for him.

He didn't want to leave him alone, of course, but it seemed like he didn't have any other choice. He couldn't move Kakashi by himself and couldn't risk taking another soldier pill—the last one had him out for too long; he wasn't sure _how_ long, exactly, but it had been long enough that Kakashi's condition had deteriorated this much. He needed to find help and bring it here.

Screwing up his resolve, Harry slid his mask up and headed out the door, trying to remember the way up to the hospital... it was up from here, wasn't it?

Long minutes passed as he searched helplessly. Ten minutes felt like hours before Harry stopped, hopelessly lost.

His hopelessness must have shown on his face, because he slowly became aware of a voice, "—there now, sweetie, tell Auntie Mallio what's the matter..."

Harry looked up to find a woman looking down at him compassionately from out of a picture frame. She had graying hair tied up in a bun and despite her narrow features she appeared friendly and concerned. She smiled when she noticed him looking back up at her.

The young ninja quickly got a hold of himself—he'd forgotten about talking paintings, it seemed. He waited a few seconds and swallowed until he was sure his voice would come out even and he'd pushed his embarrassment down. "I'm looking for the hospital," he supplied, feeling a little foolish.

The woman didn't seem to notice his embarrassment, "The infirmary, dear? Why, that's two floors down from here. Just follow the hallway to the south, it'll be the big double-doors you come to, you can't miss it."

Harry flashed her a smile that reached his eyes and thanked her quickly before running off to follow the painting's directions.

He was more than relieved when, five minutes later, the double doors finally came into view. He recognized them from his visit with Dumbledore. Without hesitation, he burst inside.

The two occupants looked up in surprise—the plump, older woman Harry recalled Dumbledore addressing as Poppy, and the weathered man who always seemed to be following him around. Their expressions quickly changed from surprise to worry and the man stepped forward.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Lupin asked.

Harry mentally berated himself for being so easy to read, but didn't pursue the subject. If it made his job today easier, then that was all he could ask for.

"It's Kakashi," he blurted, "He—he fell and now he's got—he's sick and I think he—broke something but I can't really tell because I'm not a—a doctor, and I think he's getting worse—!"

"Hold on, Harry," Lupin interrupted the fast babble of poorly annunciated English that he could barely understand, "Slow down, what's the problem, now?"

"Kakashi!" Harry repeated breathlessly, focusing on slowing down his message, "He's hurt!" He turned to the medic, "Please, I need help!"

"Someone's hurt?" The woman asked in concern, "Of course I'll help, dear! Lead the way!"

Nodding gratefully, Harry hurried back out the door and started down the hall, only to pause when he realized abruptly he wasn't sure how to get back to their rooms from here. Why did all the corridors in this place have to be so confusing?! He was used to navigating roads and smaller buildings with nice, straight-forward designs—this place was impossible!

"Harry?" Lupin asked with concern.

"Er..." Harry looked around the two corridors that split off in front of him, "I... I was in such a hurry... I'm not really sure..."

"Where did you leave him?" The man asked gently.

"He's in my room," Harry supplied.

The man nodded and took point, stick—wand—in hand, "This way, then, Madam Pomfrey."

The woman and boy were quick to follow his lead, Harry focusing his mind on memorizing the twists and turns they took, going up and down staircases and through many corridors. It kept him from worrying, at least, and they soon arrived at the rooms.

The man hesitated a beat before saying, "Hatake Harry." He grabbed the handle and opened the door as soon as he heard the familiar click of the door unlocking. He led the way inside, Harry and Madam Pomfrey swarmed in behind him.

Remus stared at the young man's revealed face with dumb shock. His white mask was nowhere to be seen and his entire face was bared to their eyes. It looked both far too young to belong to the seasoned body it rested upon, and terribly familiar in comparison to Harry.

Madam Pomfrey hurried past him to the man's—little more than a boy, really—side, her wand in her hand and casting several spells for diagnosis purposes as Harry hovered behind her nervously.

It really wasn't the time or place, but Remus doubted he'd ever get a better opportunity. He stepped closer to Harry and asked softly, "Who is he? Really?"

Harry hesitated, staring at the older teen with worry as the medic busied herself around him. The damage had already been done, really. Just as softly, he replied, "Hatake Kakashi... he's my brother."

Remus's eyes widened in surprise. He knew about Harry's parentage, but he hadn't been aware that he had a brother. The similarity between their features was a hint, of course, but they could have been anything; distance cousins or even uncle and nephew.

"Brother..." The man repeated weakly.

Harry didn't notice, too busy worrying about his brother as the witch waved her wand and the teen floated off the bed, still writhing a little.

"Have to get him up to the infirmary," the woman muttered, "Remus, would you please run down to Severus for me? I'll need something for swelling and pain, if you'll tell him."

"Of course," Remus agreed, hurrying towards the dungeons as Madam Pomfrey led Harry back up to the infirmary, the boy's brother floating in the air in front of her.

* * *

The nurse easily took care of Kakashi's physical injuries—his cuts and broken bones—but she didn't understand why he wasn't waking up.

Only an hour after they'd taken him to the infirmary, Dumbledore stopped by to visit, looking concerned.

"I don't know why he isn't waking up," Madam Pomfrey reported, her hair frizzled and cheeks red with worry, "His injuries were bad—particularly the hit to the head he sustained—but they shouldn't have had lasting damage once I took care of them… His breathing is shallow, and his heart rate is down, like he's lost a lot of blood or is starving." She waved at the bed-ridden teen with a sigh, "Obviously, that's not the case."

"That is troubling," the man agreed, "Are you certain he suffered no brain damage, Poppy?"

The nurse shot him a scathing glare, "Of course I'm sure, Albus. But if he remains in this state for too long, he may yet... I know it isn't usually advised, but I think we should forcefully wake him."

Harry didn't like the sound of that, and felt the need to intervene before they did something that may cause his brother further damage, "He'll be fine. He needs to sleep now."

Dumbledore smiled down at him, "Yes, of course, Harry, but you see, sometimes sleeping too long, in a certain situation, can be detrimental rather than helpful."

Harry scowled—he hated the way the man used long words he couldn't understand. It made him feel like a stupid little kid all over again. "He _needs_ to sleep," he reiterated, "He... his..." He again found himself grasping for a word he didn't know. At length, in frustration, he simply inserted the only word he did know, "His _chakra_ is less… low."

The old man's eyebrows rose. "Chakra," he repeated thoughtfully, eyes returning to the silent teen.

"Albus?" Madam Pomfrey prompted in confusion.

"It's... something I heard about a long time ago," Dumbledore supplied, "I'm not sure I can adequately describe what it is, though... Some kind of... life energy, I believe, that these people seem to be unable to live without." He looked at Harry, "Do I have the right idea, Harry?"

Harry frowned up at him suspiciously, "How do you know about chakra?"

The old man smiled, "I've met people like your brother, before." When Harry's expression only darkened, he added, "Yes, Remus told me, although I suspected it in the beginning."

Harry didn't like how Dumbledore always seemed to know more than he said, especially about things he shouldn't know about at all.

After a moment, Dumbledore turned back to the nurse. "We'll let him rest for now, Poppy. If Harry is correct, and he likely is as he knows more about these things than either of us, then young Kakashi should wake by himself in a few days."

The nurse reluctantly agreed and set about making the sleeping teen more comfortable. Dumbledore lingered for a little while longer, then turned to leave. Before he could get more than a few steps, Harry called out to stop him.

"Let us go," he said, not even sure himself if it was a demand or a plea.

The man looked back, his blue eyes old behind his glasses, "You already know I can't do that, Harry."

"We _need_ to go home," Harry stressed, not sure how to make the man understand.

"I understand that you miss your home, Harry," Dumbledore said carefully, "But without you, this world will fall... you have to understand that."

Harry could understand, to some extent. He didn't understand why Dumbledore thought he was so important, but he could understand why the man would keep him here under those beliefs. His village would likely do the same if such a situation arose, but that didn't mean he liked it.

"Then... let _him_ go back," Harry said, "I'll help you."

Dumbledore paused, and Harry could tell he was seriously considering his request, but in the end he shook his head again, "No... I think it would be best for both of you to remain at Hogwarts for the time being."

Harry forcefully squashed the urge to impale him with another kunai.

* * *

The first thing that occurred to Kakashi as he woke, feeling tired and weak, was that he was in the hospital. The stagnant air and the bed felt the same, and it smelt similar, but there was something a little off. He realized what it was a second later—the telling whirs and beeps of medical machines were completely absent.

He forced his heavy eyelids open to find himself staring up at a tall, curving ceiling entirely unlike anything found in Konoha. It only took him a moment longer to realize that he was in a hospital, only it was in Hogwarts and not Konoha. Rolling his head to the side he found Harry watching him, a serious look on his unmasked face. A second later, Kakashi realized that he, too, was unmasked, and a sense of foreboding crashed down around him.

"How long have I been out?" He rasped, even though it wasn't the most pressing issue on his mind.

The boy cringed, "Almost three days... Four if you count the day in our rooms."

Kakashi didn't curse, or react visibly at all, but he was immediately aware of the implications in Harry's answer. They'd passed the deadline. By now all of Konoha would know they were missing-nin. If they were extremely lucky the Hokage might try to cover it up for a while, give them a little longer than was strictly legal, but even that would probably be useless to them now.

He was shaken from his thoughts as he noticed Harry shifting guiltily in his chair. Despite his long stint of unconsciousness, the boy was looking anywhere but at him, eyes wandering the architecture and the windows, which allowed only the early morning light to filter through.

The teen frowned slightly, a measured gesture, "Aren't you glad I'm awake?"

"Huh?" Harry asked, startled eyes flying back to him, and a blush slowly rising on his cheeks, "Oh, well, yeah, of course... it's just... Konoha..."

Kakashi wouldn't allow himself to be distracted, "How much do they know, Harii?"

The twelve-year-old grimaced again and Kakashi knew he'd hit the target. Dropping his gaze, Harry answered, "I... accidentally used your real name... and they'd seen you, so there really wasn't anything else to hide. They know you're Hatake Kakashi, and they know we're brothers—Dumbledore said he suspected it when we first arrived..."

The boy's face turned grave and he looked up again, "Niisan, they already know a lot—there've been shinobi here before us. They know a little about chakra and who knows what else."

Kakashi frowned, "I doubt they'll just tell us what they know... continue to be careful about what you say, Harii. They were bound to figure out our connection eventually, although I would have preferred it to be later..."

"What about Konoha, though?" Harry pressed, "Are we still going to try to leave?"

Kakashi frowned, "I'd rather not stay here, in a mansion with rooms that move and a wall that drains chakra. It's almost as if this fortress was built with shinobi specifically in mind."

"... But we obviously were too foolish in our first attempt," the ANBU continued reluctantly, "Next time we leave, we need to have it planned out better. We need to know the castle and the grounds thoroughly—if things really move around, we should put chakra markers at important locations to find our way more efficiently—"

"I thought of that," Harry interrupted, flushing slightly when the teen glanced at him sharply. He shifted uneasily, "I... put a seal next to our rooms... it's probably not very good, but we can find it... But, niisan..." He hesitated, looking up with concern again, "There... there are already chakra markers around here."

Kakashi's eyes widened slightly, "What do you mean? Here?"

Harry nodded, "There's one outside the hospital doors, one in front of the Great Hall, one at all the doors leading in and out, one at Dumbledore's office, the library, and more that I haven't had the time to find, yet... They're... a little old, I think, but they're really well done. Once you get used to them, you can find everything important in the castle pretty quickly."

"... There really have been shinobi here before," Kakashi mused with surprise, "We'll have to be careful what we do—we don't know how much Dumbledore knows about us."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but cut himself off when he heard a door open. Both of them looked around to see Madam Pomfrey stepping in from an antechamber.

"Oh!" The woman began to smile, then her expression turned a little nervous as she hurried over to them, "Good, you're awake—Kakashi, isn't it?"

The teen nodded stiffly at his name, watching the woman with suspicious eyes.

"We were so worried—Harry's hardly left your side! How are you feeling?"

Kakashi stared at her blankly, glancing briefly at Harry before returning his attention to her.

"You poor thing," the woman simpered—Kakashi didn't think he liked this new side of her. He was used to being underestimated because of his age, but he hadn't been _coddled_ like this for a long time—he still recognized that tone of voice. She whipped out her wand. "I'm going to perform another diagnosis," she informed him, even though the teen couldn't understand what she was saying, "Then you should try to eat something and get back to sleep."

Kakashi's tension was almost invisible, while a quick glance at Harry showed him stiff-backed in his chair. Madam Pomfrey seemed ignorant of their discomfort as she waved her wand over him.

Several lines of text and numbers appeared in the air over his bed—Kakashi tried not to stare at them too obviously, but it was about the strangest thing he'd ever seen. The woman looked the lines over closely, muttering to herself for a moment, before abruptly making them vanish with another sharp wave of her wand.

She smiled at him, "Your readings seem normal now. I'll have the house elves heat up some soup—wait here, I'll be back in a moment."

Kakashi stared after her as she scuttled out of the room again. His eyes wandered back to his brother.

Harry smirked, "Pomfrey-san has been clucking about you ever since she realized you weren't some sixty-year-old convict."

Kakashi rolled his eyes and settled back more comfortably, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "The story of my life."

"So…" Harry turned serious again; it wasn't the time for jokes.

Kakashi nodded. "We need to do some reconnaissance before we attempt to escape again."

Harry nodded, "What do you want me to do first?"

"... Is Dumbledore's offer for you to study here still open?" Kakashi asked.

"... Yeah," Harry answered slowly, "Of course it is. He seems really desperate to get me to help him."

"Do it," Kakashi said.

"What?" Harry asked in surprise.

"He wants you to study magic here, right?" Kakashi prompted, "And it seems like it's this magic we're going to have to fight against to get out of here. We need to know at least a little about it before we try again."

"Yeah..." Harry agreed reluctantly.

They both went silent as Madam Pomfrey approached again, carrying a small tray.

"Here you are, Kakashi," the woman said gently, setting the tray on the table next to his bed, "Do you like chicken soup, dear?"

"Chicken is fine," Harry answered for his brother.

"Oh, good," Madam Pomfrey said, "Well, then, here you are, dear." She picked the bowl off of the tray and held it out to Kakashi, along with a large spoon.

Kakashi stared at it.

"... Niisan," Harry prompted awkwardly.

The teen glanced at him.

Harry raised his eyebrows, "_Take_ it, already!"

Reluctantly, the older boy accepted the steaming bowl of broth and looked down into the unappetizing golden liquid. He raised an eyebrow and glanced at his brother, "I guess they don't have congee."

Harry frowned, "I thought you didn't like congee."

Kakashi shrugged, "It just doesn't feel like a hospital visit without it."

Harry rolled his eyes.

Madam Pomfrey looked concerned, "Is something wrong?"

"Huh?" Harry forced himself back to English, "Oh, it's nothing. Niisan's just being funny. He likes chicken soup." Turning to his brother he added tightly, "_Eat it!_"

Kakashi stared at him blankly for a moment before rolling his eye and dipping the spoon awkwardly into his soup. He'd only used a spoon a handful of times in his life, and he lost about half of the broth as he lifted the spoon, and didn't quite manage to keep from spilling it on himself.

Harry couldn't help but snicker.

The older Hatake shot him a glare before setting the spoon aside and simply drinking straight from the bowl.

Madam Pomfrey smiled with satisfaction. "Let me know if there's anything else you need," she said contentedly before leaving the room to let the two boys have their privacy again.

"How is it?" Harry asked with a smirk when the teen finally paused for air.

"... Alright," Kakashi said without commitment.

"The food here's really good," Harry said happily, "That's one thing this place has going for it."

"Make them think we're going to cooperate," Kakashi said, and it took Harry a second to realize he was continuing their previous conversation.

"Oh, yeah, sure," he agreed. Harry hesitated, then asked, "_Are_ we cooperating?"

"While you get on their good side, I'll scope out the mansion more thoroughly," Kakashi supplied.

"After we know enough, we'll be able to get home, right?" Harry prompted.

"Naturally," Kakashi confirmed, lifting his bowl again, "And next time we won't come out of it looking like idiotic rookies." He took another long drink of the broth.

Harry smiled—they'd get out of this for sure.

* * *

Harry threw open the door of the Headmaster's office without bothering to knock. The old wizard always had an uncanny way of knowing who was coming, anyway. As he expected, Dumbledore looked up when he entered, smiling at him calmly over the rims of his glasses.

"Ah, Harry, what can I do for you?"

Harry allowed his irritation at the question to show, "You _know_ what you can do for me."

Dumbledore started to reply, but Harry cut him off impatiently.

"If I help you get rid of _Voldemort_, you'll let me and my brother go, right?"

The old man nodded amiably, "I don't wish to keep you here against your will, Harry. If you really want to go back to that place, I will not stop you."

"... Fine," Harry said reluctantly.

The old man's white eyebrows rose in surprise, "Oh?"

"I'll help you," Harry reiterated, annoyed again, "But you have to keep your promise to let us go back afterwards."

"Of course," the wizard agreed amiably, smiling again, "I'll get your books, then, shall I?"

Harry didn't respond and Dumbledore took that as a confirmation, giving his wand a little flick. A stack of books appeared on his desk, at the side nearest to Harry. The Genin reluctantly stepped forward and picked up the top volume.

It was probably the thickest book he'd ever held in his life, Harry thought, squinting down at the title. It was even thicker than the Shinobi Handbook.

The boy's face twisted into a frown as he stumbled upon a very important realization. He opened the book and flipped through it just to be sure, but there could be no mistaking it.

"It's... in _English_," he pointed out in distaste.

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed, "I'm afraid I don't know enough of your Konoha dialect to have it translated..." He hesitated, taking in the look on the boy's face before asking, "Is that a problem?"

Harry hesitated, color quickly rising on his cheeks. It had been bad enough admitting he couldn't read English to his brother, but at least Kakashi didn't, either. Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed to think that the very idea that he wouldn't be able to read his text books was remarkable.

"I... can't read English," Harry ground out reluctantly, sure that his face was redder than ever.

* * *

"How much longer… do you think?" Harry asked hesitantly of the bed-ridden teen.

Kakashi looked much better today. He'd been able to eat solid food earlier—Madam Pomfrey had been practically glowing because of it—and he was sitting up as the brothers conversed now.

The Jounin flexed a hand experimentally before replying, "Another day at least… two to be safe."

"And… then?" Harry asked.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, "What's the sudden hurry about? I'm not sure how long… Gathering information isn't exactly my specialty, but even for me, I should be able to find something out in a week or two. It all depends how complicated this school turns out to be, Harii." Hopefully, it would give his brother enough time to find out what they were up against, too.

"… I'll do my best, too," Harry concluded at length, "Dumbledore gave me the books and—" he cut himself off and turned around in his seat at the sound of the door opening.

As of yet, no one in the castle had given any sign of understanding them when they spoke with each other, but even a Genin like Harry knew better than to accept things like that at face value.

"Harry," Lupin greeted with a small smile, stopping near the foot of Kakashi's bed.

"… Lupin-san," Harry returned politely, exchanging glances with his brother.

"Professor Dumbledore told me you expressed interest in learning magic," the man explained, "I'll be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year, so if you need any help with that, you can ask me."

Harry eyed the man warily, "Did… Dumbledore-san also tell you about my… problem?"

Lupin nodded, "Yes. It's nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. You left England when you were very young, so it's only natural that you don't understand how to read very well. I can help you with that, too."

"… Okay," Harry agreed uncertainly, reminding himself that he had to trust these people—or, at least, look like he did—if he wanted to get the information they needed.

"If you're not busy," Lupin continued, casting a glance at the silent teen watching the exchange, "We should get started as soon as possible. You have a lot to learn, Harry, and not much time in which to learn it."

Harry looked at his brother again.

"Do you want to start later, or…?" Lupin trailed off suggestively, obviously not entirely comfortable with the situation.

"No," Harry said abruptly, turning away from the Jounin. He didn't need to take cues from his brother for _everything_—a ninja needed to have initiative. "You're right, there's a lot to learn and we should get started right away."

Standing, the boy offered the man a shallow bow, drawing on everything he'd been taught about civilian culture and manners, "Please teach me well, Lupin-sensei."

The man seemed extremely embarrassed for a moment—his cheeks began to turn a light shade of pink—and then he quickly turned away, raising a hand to cover a quick cough. "Ah—yes, right, well…" He began to walk, beckoning the boy after him, "Follow me, then, Harry."

Harry shot a meaningful look at his brother, then hurried to follow.

* * *

If someone had told Remus, as he watched his best-friend's son zoom around the room, laughing and squealing, on a miniature broomstick, that twelve years later the cheerful young boy would have become a cold and aloof individual, Remus would have told him, quite bluntly, that he was mad.

But the boy who trailed silently behind him was nothing like Remus imagined the one-year-old would become. Then again, a lot had happened since then that Remus wouldn't have imagined occurring.

"This is my office," he murmured as he opened the door for the boy.

"We aren't going to the library?" Harry asked, surprised.

"The library doesn't exactly have what we require," Remus explained, leading the way to a small table and ushering Harry to sit down. The boy did so silently.

"So… you can't read?" Remus prompted, sitting next to him, "At all?"

"… I can read the word _Atlas_," Harry supplied after a moment, "And… I think I can recognize some other letters, too."

"Well… that's a start," the man said awkwardly, pushing some paper and a quill towards the boy, "Why don't you show me what you know, first, and we'll move on from there."

Nodding, Harry took the quill. He frowned at it in distaste before pressing it to the parchment.

Harry felt like a six-year-old all over again as he formed sloppy letters that held barely any meaning to him. He didn't remember much. _Atlas_, _Harry_, and _P_ proved to be the extent of his knowledge, along with a few random letters he recalled after a bit of prompting.

Remus sighed—this was going to be more work than he'd thought.

"… The most basic foundation for reading and writing is the alphabet," the man said at last, "Until you know all of the letters, there's really not much we can do. Here—give me the quill for a moment."

Harry allowed the man to take the quill and watched as he slid the paper to himself.

In large, curling letters, Remus began to write, scripting out the twenty-six capital letters of the English alphabet. Showing them to Harry, he recited the name of each.

There was a little initial confusion as to why Remus's _R_'s didn't look like Harry's _r_'s, and why he added the tail after the _l_'s, but with a brief explanation concerning capitals, the boy fell silent again.

"For now we'll work on memorizing this," Remus stated once he'd finished explaining, "Why don't you try copying them down?"

Harry nodded, accepting the quill from the man and settling in to copy the letters. Remus held back a sigh when the boy started in the upper right corner, copying down the letter _I_ first.

* * *

Kakashi wasn't the slightest bit bothered when Harry didn't come to visit him later that night, although he was a little annoyed when he didn't show up the next morning, either. The main reason was the medic's constant—and sometimes nervous—mothering, she kept telling him things in a comforting tone that involved a lot of _Harry_ and _Remus_ and something called _study_—which was randomly followed by an _-ing _at times.

By lunch he was outright irritated at his brother's absence, mostly because there was no way for him to assure the medic that he was fine when he tried to get out of bed and she insisted he lay back down, nearly worked into a panic.

"I said I'm _fine_," Kakashi insisted in frustration as the medic hovered over him with a stern expression of disapproval.

"You've been unconscious for _days_, boy," Pomfrey snapped, "You only woke up just yesterday! I'm afraid I must insist you stay in bed."

They didn't understand each other, of course, but they _understood_. As an ANBU, Kakashi was trained to read body language, to catch the meaning buried beneath what people said, and Madam Pomfrey had a lot of experience with a lot of different sorts of young patients.

Kakashi was considering simply pushing his way past her—he didn't want to chance Ninjutsu with his still low supply of chakra—when his missing brother finally arrived. The teen turned a glare on the younger boy.

"Harii!" He snapped, "Tell this woman to let me leave!"

Harry blinked in surprise, stopping halfway to his brother's bed.

Madam Pomfrey turned a scathing look towards the twelve-year-old, as well. "Mr. Potter," she said stonily, "Please tell Mr. Hatake that I will not have him leaving this bed until he's gotten some rest!"

Harry was so surprised at the harsh tone coming from the previously kind woman that he didn't think to argue the use of his old surname. He suddenly regretted allowing Lupin to talk him into taking a break to visit his brother.

"A-ah… Kakashi-niisan…" He turned to his brother first, shooting a nervous look at the nurse, "I thought you said it would be two days before you were ready to get up…?"

"It changed," Kakashi grunted sourly, "Besides, it's not like I'm going to be going on a mission right away." His eyes narrowed, and he allowed a copious amount of killing intent to surround him, "_Tell_ her."

"Er—Pomfrey-san—uh, Madam Pomfrey-sa—ah.." Harry started awkwardly, "He says he's fine. I think you should just let him leave—not resting is good, too."

"What a ridiculous thing to say!" The woman retorted, unmoved, "Of course he needs to rest!" She turned narrowed eyes on the bed-ridden ninja, "I won't have him doing himself more damage—I'll tie him to the bed if that's what it takes!"

Harry didn't think it would matter much if she did tie his brother to the bed—an ANBU member could get out of something like that with their eyes closed, but he chose not to point this out to the woman.

"Harii," Kakashi snapped in irritation, "Tell her I'm _fine_."

"Ah… I have to go," Harry said quickly, edging back towards the door, "You can… tell her yourself! It's just…" He paused a moment, consciously switching back to English, "I'm fine."

Kakashi and Madam Pomfrey glared at the boy as he hurried out of the room, then the teen turned his attention back to the overbearing medic. He frowned at her silently for a moment before repeating Harry's words.

"I'm fine," he told her pointedly.

The woman frowned back at him, "You certainly are not, and you will stay put until I decide otherwise!"

"… I'm fine," Kakashi repeated more forcefully.

* * *

"The… dark… crea… um, creature… is—"

"Hold it," Lupin interrupted Harry's slow, stumbling reading, "I told you before, remember? You don't pronounce the 'e' at the end of most words. It's silent."

Harry frowned at the man, "How do you know which words? Why do you pronounce it at the end of 'the' but not… 'crea—creature'?"

"That's because… that's how the English language works," Lupin supplied lamely. He sighed, "Harry, all of these things probably don't make a lot of sense right now, but you'll get used to them."

Harry groaned, slouching in his seat and tangling his fingers in his hair as he leaned on his elbows. It was turning out to be a lot harder than he'd thought it would to learn to read. For a moment, he'd actually thought it would be easier to learn when he already knew the language pretty well.

Instead he had to deal with silent letters, combinations that sounded completely different than the individual letters they were made up of, and a dozen ways to make every sound. It was even more frustrating than when he was learning to read and speak in Konoha for the first time.

"Harry?" The man asked hesitantly, "Maybe it would be best to take another break…"

The Genin shook his head and sat up again, "I need to learn this quickly. So, the 'e' is silent, right? The dark… creature is…"

* * *

Abruptly, the teen's eyes snapped open to a dark room. He didn't move, listening carefully to be sure that overprotective medic was gone.

After a long moment of silence, Kakashi slowly sat up and slid out of bed. He looked down at himself, frowning at the pajamas he wore, and began searching the immediate area for his own clothes.

He found them in a cabinet across the room and changed quickly and quietly, shooting glances at the room he'd seen Pomfrey disappear into earlier. He was just pulling his mask on when he saw light fill the crack between the door and the floor.

Cursing under his breath, Kakashi hurried across to the door. He cursed a little more vehemently when the heavy door proved to be locked. He crouched, examining the lock on the handle, but was startled out of his work at the sound of footsteps from Pomfrey's room.

Determining that he wouldn't have enough time to disarm the unfamiliar locking mechanism, the Jounin spun and was at one of the windows in an instant. Testing the lock, a small smirk crossed his covered lips. It was open.

Quickly, he undid the fastening and pushed the window panes open. There was the sound of a door opening behind him, but Kakashi didn't wait to hear the medic's reprove. Instead, he jumped over the window ledge, falling into the darkness below.

He allowed himself a second of freefall before he turned to the rock wall quickly whizzing by him, grabbing hold with the small amount of chakra he was able to mold. A shot of panic slipped through his mind when it didn't catch on the stone.

Focusing his mind, the teen quickly pushed a little more chakra into the technique, but he still couldn't stop himself. The rough, vertical surface scraped against his palms when he tried to stop himself physically, rubbing his hands raw.

He glanced down, only to regret it as he found the rooftop of the building below approaching far too quickly—he'd already wasted more than five stories; when had the hospital gotten so far up? Pushing his rising sense of panic from his mind, Kakashi reached into his pouch, pulling out a kunai and a length of wire.

His experienced hands worked quickly to secure one end of the wire to the kunai's hilt, then he shoved the tip of the knife into the stone wall with all the strength he could muster. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the wire as it slipped through his fingers, slowing his decent as the wire cut further into his abused hands.

Then the roof was under him. Fusing what was left of his expendable reserve of chakra into his legs, Kakashi managed to soften the impact enough that he wasn't hurt. He still felt the sudden collision in all of his limbs, though, and stood still for a moment, waiting for his knees to stop shaking.

He gave the wire a solid tug, pulling it out at an angle from the wall, and managed to wrench his weapon free of the wall above him, catching it flawlessly as it fell.

His heart rate slowly returned to normal and his breathing became less haggard. He silently promised himself that finding where Harry had left his gloves would be first on his list of things to do. Feeling braver, the Jounin made his way to the edge of the roof he stood on, careful not to slip.

"Well… that was fun," he muttered, peering down at the ground, a few stories below.

This time he ground a kunai into the edge first, and descended down the roof slower, to land safely on the grassy grounds below.


	6. On the Trail

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: A Haiku: Harry Potter and; Naruto I do not own; And I never will.

I don't have much to say this chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed (especially anonymous reviewers who I couldn't reply to personally), and thanks to all you readers who put up with my slow updates. Also, good luck to everyone who starts school again this week... hopefully I'm not distracting you too much.

I'm going to do my best to stick with three weeks now, and hopefully it'll eventually be able to be updated more frequently again. So, expect the next update on Tuesday, September 23. Hope you enjoy the next segment!

Chapter 6 – On the Trail

After a long day of being irritated and disappointed with his friend—enough so that he couldn't properly enjoy the rest of the tournament—all Tenzou wanted to do as he filed out of the stadium with the rest of the audience was go home where he could let his anger fester in peace. Or possibly go over to Harry's apartment and let his fists give the little brat a piece of his mind.

He couldn't _believe_ Harry would actually ditch his responsibilities like that! He frowned a little at the thought—Harry had been looking forward to his fight against Itachi for weeks, and Tenzou knew he'd spent every waking moment preparing for it. So why would he skip out all of a sudden?

His irritation began to fizzle out as concern worked its way into his mind when a figure suddenly appeared beside him. Not in the normal manner, either, this was someone who he was certain hadn't been anywhere near him in the crowds a moment before.

"Tenzou-san," a serious-faced young man prompted.

Tenzou nodded briefly, his own face betraying nothing.

"The Hokage wants to see you in his office right away," the older Chuunin said in an undertone.

Tenzou nodded a second time and the man disappeared as quickly as he'd come, leaving the teen alone in the crowd of people again.

He continued walking a moment longer before changing direction, fluidly slipping out of the crowd and taking to the roofs, making his way to the Hokage Tower as quickly as possible.

It was about Harry—he was sure it was. And if the Hokage was getting involved personally, it had to be something serious.

Within minutes he was at the door, knocking impatiently, only to be let in a second later when a fully uniformed ANBU member opened the door. Tenzou hesitated in surprise until he heard the Hokage call him inside.

Casting a wary look at the masked man, Tenzou passed into the room. One other ANBU member was present, along with a man Tenzou didn't recognize, and another he did—Maito Gai, who he heard Harry talk about often enough. Apparently he was close friends with Kakashi. The teen's alarm rose a notch—just what _had_ Harry gotten into now? And how was Kakashi involved?

"You wanted to see me, Hokage-sama?" Tenzou prompted, surprised with himself when it came out perfectly calm.

"Yes," the Sandaime confirmed somberly, "Tenzou, you probably noticed that Harii did not participate in the tournament today."

Tenzou nodded, frowning. He'd thought it would be about Harry, but he'd really hoped that it wasn't.

Frowning stonily, the Hokage continued, "It isn't just the tournament he was absent from, however. It seems that he's disappeared completely from the village."

Tenzou blinked, "What do you mean? He… left?"

"There are ninja combing the village for him as we speak," the old man stated, "However, the most prominent places he might have been—namely, his apartment and the training grounds—have already been checked."

Tenzou didn't say a word, digesting this information. Why would Harry just get up and _leave_ the day of the final portion of his Chuunin exam? It didn't make any sense.

"… The good news is that the apartment looks untouched," the Hokage continued after a moment, "His traveling things are still there, so chances are he hasn't gone far. However, Kakashi has also disappeared, along with his equipment. Assuming they're together, it isn't impossible for them to have left the village."

The man looked critically at the teen before him, "I need to know if Harii said anything to you about leaving, or any hint as to where he might have gone."

Tenzou was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the concept. He shook his head, "The last time I saw him, he seemed really enthusiastic about the exams…" He hesitated, then added, "I don't think he would have left willingly, Hokage-sama."

"When was the last time you saw him?" The Hokage questioned.

Tenzou thought a moment before he answered, "Just before my last mission—so, nine days ago."

The Hokage nodded somberly.

"Hokage-sama! It was only the day before yesterday when I last saw my Rival's Younger Brother!" Gai burst in, unable to remain quiet, "He was full of Vitality and the Enthusiasm of Youth. I can't believe so much could have happened in two days that his Spirit would burn out and allow him to run away!"

The Sandaime sighed, "Yes, Gai, I am aware of your thoughts on this matter. However, the fact remains that Harii and Kakashi are both gone, and there is no sign of a struggle having taken place, and no witnesses to their disappearance."

"Hokage-sama," the ANBU member Tenzou had seen at the door spoke up. His arms were crossed and the black, twisting ram-horns on his mask caught the light in such a way that he appeared even more intimidating. "I think we have to at least recognize the possibility that Hatake-san and his brother left the village together… and of their own will."

"Kakashi-senpai would never betray the village!" The second ANBU member Tenzou had noticed upon entering snapped—with a start of surprise, the teen realized these the two must be on Kakashi's ANBU squad. He still wasn't sure about the mystery man.

"Agreed!" Gai concurred passionately, "My Eternal Rival would _never_ turn his back on this village of his Youth!"

"Nevertheless," the first ANBU replied calmly, "All of the evidence points towards a voluntary desertion. Whether or not Hatake-san intended to betray the village, he knows the consequences for such behavior, and I can't believe he would incur such punishments just for a short _vacation_."

"I don't want to form any conclusions just yet," the Hokage interrupted before the argument could escalate, "For now the search will continue—perhaps some clue as to their location or reason for leaving will show up. Tenzou, thank you for your time, that will be all."

"I can help with the search," Tenzou offered, "I know a few places where Harii sometimes goes."

"That would be fine, Tenzou," the Hokage agreed without much confidence, "Let me know if you find anything."

"Of course," Tenzou agreed, moving towards the door. He was about to leave when he hesitated again, looking back, "Hokage-sama… have you spoken with Naruto-kun? I know Harii routinely spends time with the boy, so he might have heard something."

The Sandaime smiled, "Thank you, Tenzou, we'll speak with him."

Tenzou nodded and headed out.

* * *

He heard it before he saw anything, heading to Harry's apartment to ascertain that nothing had been missed by the team that checked it over earlier.

"Harii!"—_Bang_, _bang_—"Harii-san!!"—_Bang_—"Harii-niisaaan!!"—_Bang_,_ bang_, _bang_,_ bang_.

Frowning slightly, Tenzou dropped onto the balcony on Harry's floor. Turning down the open-air hall—a design implemented specially in apartments aiming to sell their space to shinobi—the teen's eyes landed on the source of the disturbance. A small blond haired child stood outside the door to the Hatake's apartment, shouting and banging his fists loudly against it.

"Hey," Tenzou started, coming to a stop a few scant feet away from the boy.

The boy startled, quickly whirling around to face him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. His body language relaxed slightly when he saw who it was, although he appeared more unhappy than ever.

"Naruto… what are you doing here?" Tenzou prompted, even though he was already pretty sure on the reason.

Naruto rubbed his eyes with one hand and frowned, looking back at the door beside him, "I've been here all day—I think… I think he's really gone."

"Hmm," Tenzou intoned without commitment.

The boy's fingers curled into fists at his sides, his arms shaking slightly and his head bowing forward, "I can't believe he just left… without even telling me anything! I thought he was the one who—" Naruto broke off abruptly, turning silent.

Tenzou stared at the bowed head in silence for a moment. He sighed quietly and wondered—not for the first time—what, exactly, had been running through his friend's head. Had Harry and his brother really just… run off? Only he was sure they wouldn't do that—especially without telling anyone.

"Move, Naruto," he ordered, approaching the door.

Confused eyes darted up to him as the boy obeyed, hurriedly shuffling back out of his way.

"What are you doing…?" The five-year-old questioned, watching curiously as Tenzou first tested the lock and then reached for something in his pocket.

"Going inside," the teen grunted in reply as he fiddled around with the lock a moment longer.

"What—" Naruto started, only to cut himself off when the lock clicked.

Slowly, purposefully, Tenzou turned the handle and opened the door. Naruto stared with wide eyes.

"How did you do that?!" The boy exclaimed excitedly, bouncing to the Chuunin's side, "That was awesome!"

"Just a simple lock-picking technique," Tenzou shrugged, spinning a long, thin needle in his fingers before stowing it in his equipment again. "Obviously, whatever team went through here last didn't care enough to put the traps back up," he added, pushing the door wider and stepping cautiously over the threshold, "Otherwise, we'd be in trouble right now."

Naruto followed close behind him, looking around with appreciation, "So this is where Harii-niisan lives?"

Tenzou nodded, "They were seen by a neighbor entering their apartment two days before the tournament. Everyone's been questioned, but no one saw them leave again. So any clues about their disappearance would be here." He glanced sharply at the five-year-old, who'd started to wander away during his speech. With a frown, and a fair amount of intimidation thrown in for good measure, he added, "Naruto! Don't _touch_ anything."

The boy stared at him with wide eyes, and quickly nodded, scurrying back to his side.

Tenzou turned his attention back to the apartment, expression serious as he began to form seals with his hands.

"If only these walls could talk," he muttered before his body went through a bizarre transformation, almost seeming to melt and stretch before disappearing, absorbed into the wall behind him.

Naruto gaped at the empty space in Harry's apartment and swore—he was _so_ going to be able to do _that_ someday!

* * *

Kakashi frowned, coming to a stop in front of another chakra marker. There was nothing there. The marker was the same high quality work as the others, but it marked only the bare wall of an empty hallway.

Cautiously, the teen stepped up to it, systematically checking for a hidden door or _something_. Even going so far as to uncover his Sharingan for a few seconds, the Jounin was able to find nothing unusual about the patch of wall.

Thinking it might be marking something nearby, Kakashi searched a few paces down the hall to the left. There was nothing more interesting than a rude, sleepy looking man dressed in plumb—Kakashi didn't understand the sharp words the portrait shot his way, but he was sure they were most uncomplimentary. For the hundredth time, he wished he understood English and didn't have to depend on his brother to translate.

Turning on a dime, the ANBU Captain stalked back the other way, passed the chakra marker, and continued up the hall. He had gone a few paces before he remembered, abruptly, that this was the way he'd come from in the first place.

He hadn't quite recovered his chakra supply, and after his harrowing escape from the hospital and the bit of chakra he'd dispended a moment ago, he wasn't thinking quite as clearly as usual. He scowled—he'd really love to give that medic a lecture or two in her own language. He was a grown man—and a Jounin at that—if he said he was fine, then she had no right to force him to stay in bed!

Some rebellious portion of his mind felt the need to point out that as a medic it was her duty to see to his health, and thus she had every right to order bed rest on him. In fact, the medics back in Konoha had been known to lock unruly shinobi in their rooms if they proved too flighty. He squashed down his better sense—this wasn't Konoha and these people weren't allies. Even the medic might take actions against him for her commander.

Giving the chakra marker up for a lost cause—perhaps there had been something there when the marker had first been placed and the door had been removed in remodeling since—Kakashi turned once more, intent on exploring the rest of the mansion; maybe eavesdropping on a little of the local language while he was at it.

He froze when his eyes caught something strange in the peripheral. Slowly, the teen turned to stare at the door that now plainly stood in the hallway, at the precise location the marker had been placed.

Kakashi again risked a quick peek with his Sharingan, but the door remained a door, seemingly unremarkable. Suspiciously, the teen palmed a kunai and approached cautiously.

He slowly cracked the door open and caught his first glimpse of the room inside. It looked like a study; there was a tall bookshelf on the far wall and a round table in the middle of the floor, a thick envelope squarely in the center. Muscles tense for a surprise, the Jounin inched closer.

A horrible screeching cry broke the silence and Kakashi had spun around in an instant, fully armed and at the ready.

He wasn't prepared for the small, brightly dressed man that raced towards him down the hall, mouth wide and releasing the horrible scream that only rose in volume with proximity. He was doubly shocked when the little man, catching sight of him, stopped abruptly and hung in midair, staring at him.

The man's ugly little face stretched into a grotesque smile and he said something in a light, taunting tone that Kakashi didn't like at all. It did a little roll in midair and cackled with malicious laughter.

It said something else—Kakashi was quite sure he didn't like the creature—then left as quickly as it had come, soaring down the hall with loud laughter and whooping echoing after.

Kakashi frowned and was after the strange little man in an instant, the odd room pushed aside for later inspection.

* * *

Weariness settled over the Headmaster like a blanket when the face in the fire finally vanished into the indistinct pattern of flames. With a tired sigh, he turned to return to his chair. The knock that sounded on his office door didn't even phase him.

"Come in," he called out in a rusty old voice.

There was a slight creak as the heavy door swung open, and Dumbledore seated himself in the high-backed chair behind his desk before raising his gaze to his visitor.

"Ah, Remus," he managed to twist his lips into something close to a smile, "How are Harry's lessons coming along?"

"He's improving faster than I expected," the younger man replied absently, worried eyes taking in his senior's appearance, "Professor Dumbledore, is something wrong?" The wizard looked tired and worn, and although the state was becoming more and more usual as of late, Remus thought he'd perked up a bit since they'd retrieved Harry Potter.

"Just the usual pushiness from the Ministry," Dumbledore replied, and his composure slipped away with a sigh, eyes weary behind the shine of his glasses, "Fudge is coming tomorrow. He won't be delayed any longer."

Understanding passed over Remus's face like a shadow, "He'll want to see Harry."

The Headmaster nodded, "Naturally. And talk to him about joining in the war—some sort of nonsense. The poor boy doesn't even know magic, he can't be expected to face off against one of the most powerful wizards of this age."

"I'm not sure Harry would agree, anyway," Remus added dubiously, "I know he said he would help, and while he's been intent on his studies, it doesn't seem like his heart is in it. He comes to my office cross more often than not."

"His agreement was a ruse," Dumbledore confirmed tiredly, "If it came down to it, I think he would fight, but not for us. They're buying time, they still believe they can bully their way back to Konoha." He frowned across at the young professor, "I'm not convinced Fudge will even be safe approaching either one of them. If they find out who he is…"

Silence settled down over the office. In the corner, Fawkes preened his feathers, unconcerned with the tension surrounding the two wizards.

"Perhaps we should just send them back," Remus murmured at last.

"I wish it was as simple as that. He was born for this task, Remus," Dumbledore countered, "I don't like keeping him against his will anymore than you do, but if Voldemort is not stopped, thousands will pay the price—perhaps millions."

"But there must be another way," Remus argued without conviction, "Voldemort has always been afraid of you—isn't there something you can do?"

The older wizard chuckled dryly, "Remus, I'm an old man. Voldemort's new body is in its prime. If I were even fifty years younger, I might stand a chance…" His left hand wandered to massage his chest through his robes meaningfully, "I think our last encounter was telling of which of us would come out on top if we fight again. I can't even be sure how much longer my influence will hold him at bay."

He shook his head mournfully, "We've run out of both time and options, my friend. Harry really is our only chance—I simply hope we'll have the time to train him before his services are needed." He released a disgruntled snort, "It would be easier if that fool wouldn't interfere while things are still so tenuous."

Remus said nothing. The wizarding world was being pressed hard. The death toll was gradually increasing and fear pervaded every home. The Ministry was only barely keeping up the façade that they were struggling against this fate. It was understandable that the Minister wanted to secure his weapon right away, but doing so could destroy whatever chance they had to win the boy over.

Dumbledore sighed again, "Things could have been so much different if Harry had accepted our invitation in his first year…"

Remus eyed the Headmaster, "But you must have known it would come to this eventually. I'm surprised you didn't fight harder to bring him back two years ago."

A mysterious smile crossed the old man's lips, "If it were up to me, I would have traveled there personally and done everything I could to convince him to come… But I am bound by law not to interfere with Harry in Konoha. If the Ministry hadn't gotten involved, Harry would be safely out of our reach even now."

"What did you do?" Remus wondered, his mind racing to puzzle out the meaning of Dumbledore's words. Instead of answering, the elder wizard watched as understanding dawned on the younger man's face. "You signed a contract," Remus guessed with amazement, "But why would you do that? You knew Harry would need to return!"

"It is precisely because Harry needed to return that I did so," Dumbledore replied calmly, "Those were a foreign people—to them, it wouldn't matter if the rest of the world fell to tyranny, they would have continued living as always… Their leader would have never given us one of his villagers to use like that. I hoped to buy us a chance at a peaceful resolution. Had Harry chosen to come to Hogwarts, the Hokage, that's their leader, would have had no choice but to allow him; as I had no choice but to allow him to stay."

Remus absorbed the information quickly, processing the possible repercussions connected to the signing of such a contract before his mind slipped back to the current situation, "Still, even if things have worked out this way so far, we can't force him to fight."

"No," Dumbledore agreed mildly, "There is no question that Harry must agree to help us freely. For now, all we can do is continue trying to win his friendship. I knew his mother and his father—both were good people."

Frowning, Remus opened his mouth to interrupt but the Headmaster raised his hand and continued.

"I have no doubt, that in the end, Harry will do what is right and help us."

* * *

Silently, the two ninja slipped out of the small door and landed in the hallway—a tapestry depicting a basket of fruit fluttered briefly as the only hint of their passing.

"Niisan," Harry started, swinging his legs quickly to keep up with the elder's swift strides, "When do you think we're getting out of here? Have you been able to find out much?"

"I've been able to find out a lot," Kakashi said grimly, "Unfortunately, most of it is not very encouraging." He was silent a moment, then added, "I'll be going down to that village tomorrow—the one Lupin-san told us about."

Harry nodded—he racked his mind for the name, but came up blank. "You found the way out of the castle, then?"

Kakashi nodded, "The forest is safe to move through… although the local… wildlife was a bit problematic… at first." He glanced at his brother, "Don't try going through it by yourself."

Harry frowned, but grudgingly agreed, "Alright. What about the lake, though?"

"…" Kakashi was silent for such a long time that Harry almost thought the Jounin hadn't heard him. At last, Kakashi relented with a muttered, "The wildlife there is a bit… more persistent."

Harry raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He was about to press his brother for more details, but Kakashi interrupted before he had the chance to do so.

"Try to stay focused on your own task," he said, a little sharply, "And be up early tomorrow morning—I want to get some training in before I head out."

Harry blinked, and it took him a second to realize what the older boy was talking about. They hadn't trained at all since that first day they were brought here, and he suddenly realized that that was probably a bad thing. Back home, training was a part of their daily routine.

"It's important that we stay in top shape while we're here," Kakashi added in an undertone, glancing at a dozing portrait on the wall, "I have a feeling we're going to need every advantage we can manage to get back home."

"Yeah, you're right," Harry agreed as they turned up the hall leading towards their rooms, "I'll see you tomorrow morning, then."

"Inu-san," Kakashi muttered self-consciously at his door before testing the handle. Letting himself in, he raised a hand in a nonchalant farewell to his brother and disappeared through the darkened doorway.

Smiling slightly, Harry turned to his own door and released the lock with his name. As tiresome as his lessons here were turning out to be, it wasn't the worst situation he could be in. At least his brother was with him.

Harry shut the door behind him and his expression turned grim, thoughts of everyone back home, inspired by his short conversation with Kakashi, gnawed at his mind.

How was his team fairing without him? And had any of them managed to pass the exams? Then he thought of Tenzou and Naruto, and what they must think of his unexplained disappearance. Had anyone figured out what had happened? Or was it like his brother had said… were they considered traitors and missing-nin now?

Shuddering at the thought, Harry picked up the book he was working on and slumped on his bed, delving into the intricacies of the English language in the hopes that it would distract him.

* * *

Kakashi stood silently, a dark silhouette against the pre-dawn darkness surrounding Hogwarts castle. A cool breeze rushed down from behind him, cutting straight through his uniform, and the ANBU shivered briefly, pulling his cloak closer. It provided little insulation and the teen wished he had his heavier cloak.

It wasn't the coldest country he'd been in—Earth Country was cold during the winter, and stiff flakes of snow sometimes fell there during the night. He'd even been to a country that seemed to be made completely of snow and ice once, although he hadn't particularly enjoyed it. But in both cases the difference was gradual; the slow changing of seasons and the steady change in climate as he made his way north.

It was summer in Fire Country: a hot, muggy wave of heat had moved in after the refreshing showers of spring. For almost a month now the temperature had constantly been above thirty degrees, reaching near and sometimes surpassing forty by mid-day. The sudden change of climate made the coolness here especially keen.

He mentally shook himself from the wandering thoughts—a shinobi couldn't dwell on things like unfavorable weather patterns. He turned his attention back to the job at hand, his eyes resting on the sleepy village before him.

In an instant he was gone, ghosting down among the houses.

* * *

"You wanted to see me," Harry stated, coming to a stop in front of the elderly wizard's desk.

He held himself stiffly, at attention, and did his best to betray no emotion, reaching back to the long, boring lectures of the Academy. He hadn't made a very good impression so far, and had flown off his handle more times than he'd like to admit.

His brother, too, had betrayed his nervous tension a few times, though, so Harry didn't feel completely inadequate. But the time for panic and over-reacting was past. Their mission was clear now and he couldn't let Kakashi down.

Dumbledore inclined his head, his expression unreadable to the young Genin. "Yes…" The man sighed and offered him a tired smile, "I would like to apologize to you, Harry… It was never my intention to kidnap you away from a life you were happy with."

Harry clenched his jaw and remained silent, stubbornly crushing down the childish impulse to demand why he _had_, then.

"You understand a little better now, I hope," the man continued, peering at him intently, "My position is a difficult one. I want you to be happy, Harry, but thousands—even millions—of people will die if you do not help us."

Harry's eyebrows twitched a tad closer together, his mouth twisting into a faint scowl under his mask. "I still don't understand," he said blithely, "What's so special about _me_? I'm only a Genin. I might have made Chuunin this year, but even then, I don't have any remarkable abilities or skills. If you really wanted help, you should have hired a team of assassins."

"From your stand point, I'm sure that seems like a reasonable solution," Dumbledore replied gently, "However, it is only because there is so much about our world you still don't understand."

Harry frowned under his mask. Killing someone was the same in any world. He doubted anyone could survive his brother's Raikiri plunging through their heart.

"Voldemort will not be killed by normal means," the wizard continued, "And since he got his hands on the Philosopher's stone, he's more powerful than he ever was before." His gray eyes met with the bright green opposite him and he tried to will the boy to understand his point, "Harry, since the day you were born, this is what you were meant to do."

"I don't believe in sangen-no-hosoku," Harry stated, "Everyone creates their own… future. The belief that the san-hikari decide our lives has never been accepted by the shinobi."

"I'm afraid I do not know the particulars of the religious beliefs of your people," Dumbledore admitted, "However, I am fairly confident that what you refer to has nothing in common with the divination wizards use. I would like you to learn more on that subject before I explain to you the details of the prophecy you were born under."

Harry struggled to piece together the meanings of the new words he was being subjected to before logging them away for later perusal. "I am studying," he said defensively, "Just like you wanted me to."

The old man smiled, "Yes, I've heard from Professor Lupin that your studies have been going well."

Harry thought Lupin must have been being too optimistic when he gave that report, because as it stood the Genin doubted he would ever be able to read the English language well. He took forever to sound out even the most familiar words, and even then he kept making the same mistakes.

"There is something else I wanted to talk to you about," Dumbledore began after a moment, peering through his glasses at the boy. "I realize it is not socially acceptable for you to leave your village so suddenly like you did… I propose we send a letter to your Hokage, explaining the situation."

Harry's green eyes flashed up in an instant, beginnings of thoughts and schemes flashing through his mind. That would be _perfect_. If he could get a message to the Hokage, being rescued would be an easy matter. If anyone knew how to get them out of this, it would be the Sandaime.

"When?" He asked quickly.

"Of course your brother will likely want to add a message of his own," Dumbledore noted, "So it would be best if you waited until he returns to the castle."

Harry did his best to keep the surprise from his face, but wasn't sure he'd succeeded completely. His hands fisted at his sides, "He's only exploring the grounds."

The wizard smiled knowingly, "I understand that shinobi have a strong desire to hoard information. I therefore encourage Mr. Kakashi to explore as much as he is able—his findings may come in useful at a later date."

Harry frowned, struggling to follow the wizard's line of thought. It had been obvious to him for some time now that his brother would be held as leverage to get him to go along with Dumbledore's plan—as poorly thought out as it was to use an ANBU Captain for something as mundane as a hostage—but if that was what they wanted Kakashi for, why would they give him this opportunity to escape?

"… Is that all?" Harry asked—he had a lot to think about, and trying to understand the wizard's tactics was beginning to give him a headache. They seemed completely nonsensical.

Dumbledore inclined his head, "Bring your letter to me once you have composed it—I will send it to Konoha with Fawkes."

Harry nodded quickly and retreated from the room, hoping his brother would be back soon.

* * *

Kakashi had been to a lot of different kinds of towns, and Hogsmeade fell into his least favorite category. The streets _stank_ with fear and the atmosphere was dull and stingy. During the war, he'd been to a lot of small border villages that shared the same atmosphere. He'd been glad to see the last of them.

The ANBU crouched invisibly on the tapered roof of a house, watching people on the streets. They walked briskly in twos and threes, glancing around anxiously as though their heads were all on swivels, and only occasionally exchanging terse conversation.

There was something dehumanizing about the entire village. These people were more like mice hiding in their holes. It was pathetic to watch—but he did.

Kakashi watched a woman emerge from a building down the street. She walked up the lane a little ways and looked around—even going as far as to quickly scan the sky and rooftops. Her gaze lingered for a moment and Kakashi pulled back deeper into his Genjutsu, wondering if she'd somehow seen him. She didn't feel any stronger than anyone else he'd met so far, but his senses didn't seem to provide an accurate assessment of threat anymore.

She looked away again and did another quick survey of the street before hurrying back inside. Kakashi frowned after her for a moment, contemplating the strange behavior before storing it away in his mind and returning to the present.

There was a lot more of the same. Tired, anxious white faces with darting eyes hustling about. Kakashi had a pocket full of newsprint—folded with the pictures in as it was a bit disconcerting to see men and woman making faces out of the inky black print—and although he couldn't read much, he was able to glean the meat of the contents mostly from those same pictures that made him so uneasy.

These people were at war. There had been at least that much truth in Dumbledore's story.

The ANBU frowned, mulling over the situation as he allowed his gaze to wander on the quiet street below—dusk was beginning to fall and fewer people were venturing out.

Dumbledore knew who they were and what shinobi did, it seemed. If he was that desperate for soldiers, his people could have hired armies of them—and not just from Konoha. He could have requested the best. Instead he chose to kidnap one young Genin. However he looked at it, it didn't make any sense. It was a tactical suicide.

Unless there really was something 'special' about Harry—although what that could be, Kakashi didn't know. He'd lived with the younger boy for seven years, and while Harry caught onto some things faster than his age-mates, he was still hardly above average. He was bright, but no more than would be expected from Hatake Sakumo's son—he certainly wasn't the child prodigy people had hoped he would be.

Kakashi scowled—none of it made any sense. Maybe these wizards weren't smart enough to worry about. It was possible every one of them was clinically insane.

He shifted slightly, deciding to head back to the castle—now that they knew about the chakra-draining wall, getting home wouldn't be a problem—but he froze again as his gaze landed on something new.

A single man was drifting through the crowds, dressed in billowing black robes. He moved with a confidence the other civilians lacked completely, and Kakashi found himself following automatically, skulking after him in the shadows.

* * *

Drawing his cloak tightly around himself, Kakashi slipped through a raggedy door under a molding, swinging sign with the grotesque snout of a pig painted on it in faded colors. He found himself in an equally unkempt barroom filled with smoke. With a scowl, he located his mark and made his way to a table on the other side of the room.

He didn't bother looking for a dark table—the lights were dim and cast deep, flickering shadows everywhere. Kakashi bowed his head and reached up to adjust his hitai-ate. When he looked up again he focused his gaze on the wall of glass mugs behind the worn bar, taking only an instant to zero in on the cloaked man's reflection.

He sat at a booth, across from another pair of people in black. The man he'd followed still wore his hood up, although Kakashi could see the faces of his companions—a thin-faced woman with ragged brown curls and a heavyset man with a prominent chin and short hair that could have been either black or dark brown, it was impossible to tell in the smoky bar.

The heavyset man was leaning on the table, an annoyed expression on his face as his lips moved. Kakashi spent a moment trying to read what he was saying, but the reflection wasn't clear enough and the man was probably speaking in the odd syllables of the English language, which Kakashi wasn't familiar enough with to read from a distance in the first place. The man stopped abruptly and his expression slowly began to change, along with that of the woman beside him. Their faces paled and their eyes turned wary, dark in shadowed sockets. The woman pressed her lips into a thin line while the man's frown took on a nervous edge.

A voice at his elbow broke the ANBU's observations and he looked up quickly only to find the elderly bartender beside him. Beady gray eyes peered suspiciously down at him and the man wiped the massive fingers of one hand purposely on his filthy apron before speaking again, leaning a little closer.

Kakashi could guess what he wanted—what did any bartender want?—and didn't allow the brusque attitude to bother him. Slowly, he raised a hand and extended one finger.

The man's gruff voice barked out again with what Kakashi assumed was annoyance, but the teen didn't move in the slightest, allowing his gaze to find his mark in the reflection again instead. With a few more grumbled comments, the old man lumbered off again.

All three of the cloaked figures were huddled over the table now. Kakashi watched them carefully. The man's companions' faces were tense, but it was a kind of nervous edge that was different from the fear most people in the village wore.

There was definitely something suspicious about the three.

The bartender returned with a bottle of something and a dirty mug, setting them on the table with a loud thud. Kakashi didn't spare him a glance.

He continued to watch the cloaked figures until enough time had passed that his drink—whatever it was—was starting to turn stale, then he poured himself a small portion and took a sip, partially for the sake of appearances and partially out of curiosity. Kakashi had to smother his gag reflex in order to force the burning liquid down his throat, thoroughly distracted by the bitter taste with a sickly sweet edge.

He heaved in air, feeling as though a fire jutsu had backfired on him, and even that wasn't quite enough to sooth the burning sensation. It settled to a persistent throb that had the ANBU wondering whether his throat had blistered from the heat.

Pushing the pain from his mind with the same single-minded efficiency he always used on missions, Kakashi collected himself in time to see a thin figure escaping out the door—the booth he'd been watching was abandoned.

Biting back a curse, Kakashi sped after them. He was gone before the bartender could even shout at him for the unpaid tab.

Disappearing into the shadows of the rooftops immediately outside, the ANBU took a moment to thoroughly search the streets below. He spotted the thin woman and her wide companion skulking down a road to the right, but there was no sign of the man he'd followed.

Lips tight with suspicion, Kakashi slipped his hand into his kunai pouch, slitting one finger on the first sharp blade he came in contact with. Drawing it out, the teen quickly flashed through the familiar hand seals and within instants he had an entire party of trackers at his disposal.

Normally, it was the easiest thing in the world to track down a mark—but this time Kakashi couldn't provide his dogs with the scent. They'd have to rely on their eyes, scouring the village for the figure that met the quick description he rattled off. It wasn't much to go on, but the summons didn't question his command, and quickly scattered to begin.

* * *

He caught up to the man outside the edges of the village, and tracked him from a distance, growing more and more suspicious as the shady character's path led him straight up to Hogwarts.

Only when he reached the gate did the man pause. The stone gargoyle perched on the right side of the gate shook itself and came to life, peering down at the figure. Its gravely voice acknowledged the man as Kakashi crept closer, and the thing turned back to stone as the iron gates slowly swung inward.

The ANBU felt his suspicions confirmed. It was obvious this man was working for the other side—his behavior was that of a self-assured spy. Either Dumbledore didn't realize the man's purpose, or he'd been misleading them all along. Neither idea sat well with the shinobi.

Reaching for his weapons, Kakashi raced out of his hiding place, bristling with knives and steel.


	7. An Uncertain Aim

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Naruto, or any part of the Ministry of Magic. Unless it looks at all like the scribbles on my whiteboard.

Sorry this one was late, guys. Some parts of this chapter were a real pain to plow through. Other parts came out faster than an unsupervised puppy can get into trouble. But I worked extra hard these last few days to get it done for today, so I hope you enjoy it.

Before I forget, hopefully I'll get back on track for the next update. Expect chapter 8 on October 14... But don't be terribly surprised if it gets bumped back as much as a week since I've got two midterms and a black belt test around that time... I'll do my best, check out my profile for changes to the updating schedule!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed and continued to support me while I worked on this chapter. Now I have to go give my puppy a bath and do all the other things I've been neglecting...

Chapter 7 - An Uncertain Aim

Professor Severus Snape was not having a good day, and it showed. His shoulders were hunched as he stalked towards the school; black eyebrows sloped steeply over his large, hooked nose, and thin lips were turned into a scowl on his pale, gaunt face.

Quite unpredictably, things suddenly became even worse when thick, black wires jumped out at him from behind. Snape's head snapped around to search for the source of the attack—he couldn't see anyone behind him—while simultaneously reaching for his wand. The wires coiled tightly around him before he could move, arms pressed tightly to his side and flesh squeezed painfully. He bent his wrist as much as the binding would allow, fingers straining for the wand just within his reach—Snape froze.

A hard body was pressed against him, one hand on his wrist in a vice-tight grip and the other holding a blade to his vulnerable throat. Snape sensed something sinister from the man—something that sent shivers dancing down his spine. He'd thought he knew anger and hatred—he'd been confronted by it often enough in the form of one particular wizard—but the sensation he got just by being close to this man blew any of the queasiness he'd ever felt around the Dark Lord out of comparison.

It was only through immense self-pride and well-practiced battle experience that he managed to keep his lunch down.

"No," the single word was cold and demanding. Snape felt sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and roll down the back of his neck. What was a man like _this_ doing at Hogwarts? If someone like this was under Voldemort's command, he was sure he would have heard—so who was it?

Fingers slipped on past his hand and the coil of dread that had been building in his stomach wound itself in knots. He was definitely having a bad day.

* * *

A sharp rap on the door had Harry jolting awake—the book that lay open on his chest toppled to the floor with a soft _thump_ and the boy blinked, peering at the dark room with confusion as he attempted to rouse himself. The door opened immediately after and Harry, half-dazed with the clinging hold of sleep, wondered what the purpose of having locks was when everyone seemed to be able to get through them easily.

"Dumble—" he slurred, dragging himself upright to meet the Headmaster.

"I'm afraid I require your assistance at the front gate rather urgently at the moment, Harry," the elderly wizard interrupted.

Harry frowned, his entire face wrinkling as his mind slowly made its way back to capacity, "What—?"

"I'll explain on the way," the man excused, waving him forward.

Eyebrows low in confusion, Harry pulled his sandals on quickly and grabbed his weapon pouch, moving automatically. He strapped it to his leg in the three strides it took him to reach the door.

Dumbledore already had his wand out in the hallway, and was completing a tiny flick of the wrist when Harry joined him. The boy was tired enough that he didn't even give the spectacle a startled look.

"Ah, this way," the wizard said, leading the way down the hall.

With a frown, Harry hurried after, struggling to keep up as motor-function returned to sleeping limbs. The Genin rubbed his eyes, and was considerably more awake as he watched the wand turn to point down another corridor when they approached it. Dumbledore turned as though to follow, and Harry kept pace with him.

"What's with the—" Harry yawned, "Wand?"

"A simple directional spell," the Headmaster supplied with a small smile and a sideways glance at the boy, "It's particularly useful with finding your way when things get shuffled around. I'm making it a required part of the Charms curriculum for all grades this year."

Harry's forehead furrowed as he tried to make sense of this, "So you need it to get around Hogwarts? What's the point of having moving rooms if you can't even find everything?"

"That's a mystery that may well have died with the Hogwarts' founders," Dumbledore replied blithely, turning down a narrow stone staircase, "But the castle is usually quite stable. There's a bit of shifting over the years, naturally, but it hasn't been active like this for… oh, somewhere around twenty-five years."

Harry was about to ask what had happened twenty-five years ago, but they stepped into the marble entry hall and the large front doors swung open. A bright flash of light in the direction of the main gates drove thoughts of a mysterious past from his mind.

"We had better hurry," Dumbledore advised, exchanging a solemn look with the pre-teen. Harry blinked once, and they both took off in a run.

* * *

The sleek wood of his wand brushed against the side of his hand for just an instant, but it was enough. With a soundless force of will, magic hit the cloaked figure like a hammer, knocking the man away and dropping the wand neatly into the Potion Master's waiting hand.

With a quick flick the wires were gone and Snape was free to face his attacker. Only, the body that should have been slumped against the stone wall was nowhere to be found.

Snape's hand tightened instinctively around his wand and a sudden force hit his head. Pain exploded half a second later and the wizard stumbled forward with a grunt. His head throbbed as he twisted around, wand searching out his assailant, but again the other man had disappeared in the shadows.

"Lumos," Snape growled, and a bright light emitted from the tip of his wand. He wasn't worried about giving away his position—his attacker seemed to have a good fix on that already.

Panning the light around swiftly, Snape saw only a flash of movement before he was hit again—this time on the left side of his face. A loud crack resounded through the wizard's jaw and his eyes watered, making it more difficult to see. His cheeks burned red in anger and frustration, even as a dark bruise began to form on his chin.

At the next shimmer of movement, he gave his wand a violent swish, reacting instantly. Something flew at him from the darkness beyond his light and he ducked out of the way just in time, raising his wand in the direction it had come from.

"Tomare, Kakashi-niisan!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape instinctively went to perform the counter, but his wand was already ripped from his hand. A low, harsh voice said something he couldn't understand, and a second voice added to the distracting noise. Before Snape could decide on his next course of action, Dumbledore was in front of him, wand illuminating the immediate area around them like a steadily-burning candle.

"I believe this belongs to you," the elder wizard said, holding a familiar length of wood towards the Potion's Master.

Snape snatched the wand up quickly and searched around, dark eyes narrowed as they tried to peer beyond the limit of Dumbledore's light. "What did you do with that man?"

"Harry is explaining the situation," Dumbledore replied calmly, "It would seem there's been a misunderstanding—"

"You mean that _monster_ is with _you_?!" Snape demanded incredulously, "Professor, you can't seriously—"

"That boy is hardly a monster, and I would prefer that you not address him as such," Dumbledore interrupted, "I'm sure he was only trying to help and it won't happen again."

"Like hell," Snape growled, "With all respect, Professor, you didn't see him a moment ago. He—"

"Please refrain from speaking of our guests that way, Severus," Dumbledore interceded again, "Kakashi is—"

"Dumbledore-san."

The two wizards looked up as the two figures entered the sphere of light emitted from Dumbledore's wand. Both had narrowed eyes fixed on Snape, and Kakashi stood with his hand dangerously close to the pouch on his thigh.

"Niisan says this man is most likely working for your Voldemort-san," Harry finished, glaring at the stranger and taking in the details of his person.

"You can assure your brother that Professor Snape is quite trustworthy," Dumbledore replied smoothly, "I am well aware of where his loyalties lie."

Harry frowned, "Niisan is an ANBU. He knows more about this stuff than you. I don't think he's wrong."

The aged wizard still appeared unconcerned, "Professor Snape, here, is the Potion's teacher at this school. He's also close to Voldemort, which makes him ideal as a spy—for _our_ side, Harry."

Harry continued to frown suspiciously at the two for a moment before turning back to his brother and returning to their rapid discussion of the situation in the teen's mother tongue.

Snape frowned, "Professor, these boys… that can't be _Harry Potter_."

Dumbledore smiled wryly, "More or less, Severus. Harry is visiting with his brother to learn something about magic."

"But he isn't _Potter_," Snape insisted testily.

"These days he goes by Hatake," the Headmaster supplied, "I believe it would be best to humor him, either way."

Snape's eyes narrowed, "You told me the boy refused the invitation and there was nothing more you could do!"

"Ah… well, that was before the Ministry decided to lend a hand, as well," Dumbledore responded carelessly, "The situation has changed a bit because of it."

Just outside Dumbledore's orb of life, the two shinobi were similarly conversing.

"It's too dangerous," Kakashi argued vehemently, "Dumbledore would be better off without a man like that on his side—and we'd be safer, too."

"I don't think Dumbledore-san will just let you kill him, though," Harry insisted, "If you did something like that, we'd have to leave right away, and what would be the point, then?"

"Then we'll leave," Kakashi snapped, "I don't trust him at all."

"You don't trust any of them," Harry retorted.

"He's quicker than the others—a warrior," Kakashi glared at the dark-haired figure in the circle of light, "_He's_ dangerous."

"Then we'll leave like you said," Harry placated, "I'm ready to go home, anyway. Do you think we're ready?"

The ANBU Captain was quiet for a long moment, eyes narrowed and jaw flexing in consternation. At last, he ground out, "One week. We'll leave, then, whether we're ready or not."

Harry nodded in agreement—he wondered if he could get Lupin to teach him more wizard stuff by ten; they'd need to know as much as they could. Shooting one last, distrustful look after the strange, new wizard, Harry turned and followed his brother back to the castle.

* * *

Kakashi had already left when Harry visited his room the next morning. He'd assumed he'd missed his chance to talk to his brother about the letter, but then Harry saw him in the Great Hall. The teen was engaged in a glaring contest with Snape, who sat down the table, and neither of them seemed to have touched their food.

"Niisan," Harry started with relief—they'd be able to get the letter off today, after all. Once the Hokage knew what had happened, he was sure everything would turn out fine.

"Mm," his brother's response was not very reassuring.

Harry hunched into the seat next to the young man and continued in a low tone, "We might not have to wait a week, after all. Dumbledore-san gave us permission to send a letter."

"A little food poisoning and they wouldn't even know it was me," Kakashi muttered, eyes still glued to the dark-haired man down the table.

Harry frowned, "Are you listening to me? Kakashi-niisan, we can send a letter to the Hokage!"

Kakashi glanced briefly at the Genin, "The only reason Dumbledore has to let us write a letter is to evaluate our current standing. Just write some shit about how much you're learning and that you're eager to return after defeating Voldemort-san."

Harry's frown twitched deeper, "But shouldn't we take advantage of this opportunity? We could ask Sandaime-sama for help! You could code it and they'd never know!"

"Dumbledore doesn't have any intention of sending the letter; it would be a waste of time," Kakashi retorted, eyes back on Snape, "We'll go to the library, instead. I want to see what other offensive techniques these wizards have."

"But what if he _does_ send it?" Harry pressed with exasperation, "This could be our chance to get news to the Hokage!"

Kakashi regarded the younger boy with irritation. He sighed, "Alright, I'll help you with a code, but then we're looking up jutsu. I hope Lupin-san has taught you a lot."

Harry hoped so, too, because it would be a very long day if he hadn't.

* * *

"Where is Potter?" The Minister demanded the moment Dumbledore reached him on the grounds in front of Hogwarts. He was flanked by two tall, wide-shouldered men in black robes and tailed by a thickly made-up woman in a wide, frilly purple frock.

"He's inside," the Headmaster replied casually, "Only I'm not sure he'll appreciate being addressed by that surname—he's calling himself Hatake, these days."

"Who cares what he's calling himself?" Fudge huffed, moving up the hill towards the front doors again, "So long as he can get rid of You-Know-Who." He glanced back at Dumbledore, who had obliged to walk with him, "He _can_ get rid of get rid of You-Know-Who, can't he?"

"I believe history shall be the measure of that," Dumbledore said, "After all, at this point he _can_ do anything, it's only a matter of seeing what he _will_ accomplish."

Fudge grunted, "Well, he's useless to me if he doesn't have what it takes. You should have brought him here from the start, Dumbledore, it was a poor decision on your part not to teach him magic from the beginning. Hopefully things will still turn out for the better."

Dumbledore briefly allowed himself to wonder if the wizarding society would really be that much worse off if Kakashi were to take the man out—or, at the very least, rough him up a bit.

* * *

"I told you that's just a—an article," Harry said with exasperation, "Ignore it."

"You didn't tell me—that's why I asked," Kakashi retorted, the strain of the day showing in his voice.

Harry had quickly learned that teaching English to his brother was far more difficult than muddling through texts and attempting to translate everything himself. Kakashi was an abnormally quick study and already knew the letters, but his pronunciation of full words tended to be completely incomprehensible, making understanding difficult going both ways. Harry was relieved when they were finally interrupted shortly after lunch.

"How's it going?" Lupin asked politely as he approached the table with a cautious look at the elder Hatake.

"Good," Harry lied—he hoped his brother would decide to go back to exploring the area tomorrow.

"Ah, that's good. It looks like you've really improved, Harry," Lupin said—Harry thought there might have been an inflection of pride in the man's voice, but he couldn't be sure. "Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office if it isn't too much trouble."

Harry jumped on the opportunity, closing his book with a slap, "Alright, I'll be there."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Lupin offered.

Shutting the other books he had out, Harry shook his head, "I'll find my way—I have to talk to Kakashi first, anyway."

With a vague nod and several backwards glances, the professor left.

Kakashi frowned, "What does Dumbledore want you for?"

Harry shrugged, then blinked and stared at his brother in surprise, "You understood that?"

"More or less," Kakashi replied. The handful of words he was able to glean from the stream of conversation, coupled with Harry's actions, was enough for him to guess. "Did he say why you were wanted?"

"Not really," Harry responded casually, "Probably to have another go at trying to convince me that I should stay here and help him."

Kakashi frowned and closed his own book, "I'm going with you."

Harry didn't argue and together the brothers made their way through the labyrinth of Hogwarts. Harry had initially had a hard time getting anywhere in the castle by himself. None of his Academy lectures had included chakra markers—although he thought it may have been mentioned briefly in on paragraph of his book. The closest thing he'd ever come to learning to use them was a training session on sensing the chakra of his teammates with his Jounin-sensei.

The crash-course Hogwarts had provided him with had made him very adept at following chakra markers very quickly, however.

They arrived at the statue guarding the Headmaster's in no time and with a word the sentinel moved away to give them access to the staircase. Already the trick was becoming mundane.

Raised voices could be heard through the doors at the top of the stairs and Harry traded a confused look with his brother before knocking twice. When there was no answer, Harry shrugged and cautiously opened the door.

A large, red-faced man proved to be the source of at least one of the voices they'd heard, "—don't be ridiculous, I'm not going to sit back and—"

"Right on time!" Dumbledore cut him off, smiling at the twelve-year-old, "Harry, good, please come in."

The red-faced man's look of indignation was quickly replaced by a smile of his own as he spun around to face the newcomers. Other than him and Dumbledore, there were three others in the room; a short, plump woman that looked rather like a berry in her round, purple coat, a tall man with dark skin whose narrowed eyes were sharp as they took in the young shinobi, and a second man, almost as tall as the dark-skinned man, with a short crop of light brown hair and suspicious gray eyes.

"Ah… I see Kakashi has decided to come, too," Dumbledore noted as the elder Hatake slipped in behind his brother, effortlessly pushing the door shut. His hopes that the meeting would pass smoothly plummeted. "This is Cornelius Fudge, he's been waiting to meet you."

The red-faced man grinned widely and held a large hand towards the younger boy. "Minister of Magic, actually," he added proudly, "And you must be Harry Potter! Why, I haven't seen you since you were a baby!"

Harry wasn't listening, though, because as soon as the man's title had left his mouth, the Genin had turned to his brother and began rapidly speaking in a language that was foreign to all but the two of them. Kakashi's reply came fast, nearly cutting off the end of Harry's sentence.

Fudge looked back at Dumbledore uncertainly, his smile wavering, "He… does speak English, doesn't he?"

Before Dumbledore could reply the elder Hatake stepped forward and bowed deeply to the man. "It is an honor to meet you, Minister Fudge," he said, his English touched with an accent the Minister couldn't place.

Harry raised his own hand to meet the Minister's and shook it firmly, maintaining eye contact, "Yes, I'm… Harry Potter. I've been looking forward to meeting you, Minister."

Although he was glad the two shinobi weren't behaving hostilely, Dumbledore felt even more uneasy with the warm way they greeted him. It was obvious they had something planned—even a six-year-old knew what a Minister was and there was no way Fudge's importance was lost on the boys.

* * *

The Sandaime frowned, leafing through the lengthy document that had only just been found. Apparently, it had been improperly sorted and discovered in the records from the Nidaime's time as Hokage. Sarutobi still wasn't sure how the report had gotten there—he was sure he hadn't made that order—but that was by far the least pressing matter on his mind. He read over the entry two-thirds of the way down the top page once more.

"—_the technique is similar to the Shunshin no Jutsu, but there are several distinct differences. 'Apparation' is not limited to a fifty meter radius; the longest recorded application of the technique is well over a hundred kilometers. However, the wizard executing the technique must have been to the target location at least once before. The more accurately an image of the location can be remembered, the easier the technique is to accomplish._

"_Like in the Shunshin no Jutsu, there are wards that can block the wizard technique, however wards that cut off Apparation do not seem to affect Shunshin. A test would be needed to confirm, but it seems likely that the same would prove true the other way around…"_

It was a compelling piece of evidence, and coupled with Tenzou's testimony, it was almost condemning.

Five days earlier, after the he had visited the Hatake's apartment, the teen had approached the Hokage to express his confusion over the results of his jutsu.

"I'm sure I analyzed it correctly," he'd stated with a frown, "As many times as I go over it, it still seems like someone was inside after Harry left, but there was absolutely no contact with any of the outside walls before that—it's like he just appeared in the middle of the apartment."

It would have been impossible for any shinobi to enter that apartment without at least leaving a trace of the jutsu he'd used—whether it was to traverse straight through the walls or force entry through a window or the door. Tenzou's technique would have allowed him to pick up the impression of contact with the wall if there had been any sort of contact—human touch or chakra manipulation.

Despite the lack of evidence pointing towards an entry, Tenzou had determined that someone _had_ been inside the apartment earlier that day, feeling his impression on one of the inner doors and a bit of one wall. Still, the teen hadn't been able to come with any ideas about how someone could have entered.

Introducing wizards into the mix, however, solved those problems. With Harry involved, they had both motive and means. Unfortunately, calling this evidence up in the Hatake's defense would require distribution of information classified as S-secret for more than fifty years.

As he was agonizing over his choices, the Sandaime was suddenly disturbed when an orb of fire burst into existence on the other side of the desk, barely a meter above the ground. ANBU appeared out of nowhere to surround it as the flames coalesced into the shape of a large, fierce looking bird with vibrant, flame colored plumage.

The Hokage's face was grim as he stood calmly, waving his faithful protectors down. This coincidence was too much and firmly solidified the theory that he'd been growing in his mind since the day of the Chuunin exams. He retrieved the heavy envelope from the beast's talons with only a glance at the address.

"Have this taken immediately to Ken-san for deciphering," he ordered when his eyes landed on Kakashi's lop-sided scrawl.

Without a word, the nearest nin took the envelope from his hand and immediately disappeared.

* * *

"The wizarding world thanks you for your help, my boy," Fudge said with satisfaction as the conversation wore down. "If you need anything—anything at all—feel free to ask."

"Actually, Minister, there is one thing," the twelve-year-old hesitated, "But… well, I guess it's a little silly."

Fudge smiled broadly—completely taken in by the young shinobi's act, Dumbledore thought dryly.

"Nonsense, Harry, what would you like?" The man invited.

"It's just that ever since I got here I've been really curious," Harry supplied, "I mean, I've never seen so much magic in one place before!"

"Hogwarts is an impressive example of magical engineering," Fudge agreed good-humoredly, "But there are many magical places in the country…"

Harry nodded eagerly, "Yes, I've read about them, and they seem fascinating. I just really wish I could see some of those places before the school year starts and I'll be busy with catching up on my schooling." He racked his mind for places they'd seen in the library, "Like… eto—Saint Mungas Hospital and the Ministry of Magic…"

Fudge practically glowed at the idea, "Wonderful! We can make a tour of it—_Harry Potter's Return to Wizard Society_! You have a brilliant mind, Harry, my boy. This will really bolster the Ministry's image to the public."

Dumbledore was unable to sit quietly any longer. "Cornelius, are you sure a move of that sort is wise?" He questioned, "I believe we agreed to keep Harry's return secret as long as possible."

Fudge waved the elder wizard's concern aside, "Circumstances change, Dumbledore. Harry is obviously willing to provide us with whatever assistance he can, and seeing him back among us will boost the spirits of the people!"

"And what will you do when Voldemort"—Fudge winced—"hears of his activities?" Dumbledore questioned severely.

"He'll be escorted by the very best of our Auror department, of course," Fudge defended.

Harry wanted to ask what the Auror department was, but mindfully held his question until later.

"_Cornelius_," there was an edge of irritation to the Headmaster's voice, "You'll be making a mistake if you remove Harry from these grounds."

The Minister's eyes flashed and he glared at the elder wizard, "I see what this is. You want to keep Harry for yourself. Well, I won't let it happen. If you remember, Albus, _I'm_ the one the people elected, you are merely the Headmaster of this school. Don't overstep your boundaries."

"And I would say the same to you," Dumbledore replied coolly. He leaned back in his chair, giving the group of people a measuring look, his gaze lingering on the two shinobi. "Take them for your little tour, Cornelius, if you must," he replied at last.

* * *

Kakashi took a moment to shake off the aftereffects of the strange technique and yanked his arm away from the tall, black-skinned man with a glare. It was the second most disturbing sensation he'd ever had, ranking just below the full-body paralysis induced by at least two poisons he knew of through personal experience.

As a shinobi, the teen didn't allow himself to dwell on the feeling, instead turning his attention to his surroundings which, most assuredly, were nowhere in the vicinity of Hogwarts School.

Instead they were in a long, wide hall with dozens of fireplaces lined along the walls and people swarming around them—the shinobi watched for a moment and hardly believed his eyes when he realized the people were stepping into and coming out of the roaring flames. The blue ceiling was littered with letters and symbols, moving around so quickly that Kakashi couldn't make out anything legible, and voices overlapped voices so that he couldn't understand a word with his limited knowledge of the English language.

It was an entirely disorienting place, and Kakashi did not like it at all. He furiously studied his surroundings, intent to create order in his mind from the busy chaos around him.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," Fudge boomed over the confusion of the crowd, gesturing with a large hand at a tall, golden fountain a little farther down.

Kakashi frowned slightly in bemusement as he took in the oddly shaped forms in the statues—they were all grouped together, but only the tallest two were even remotely human. One he recognized as the strange little creatures that seemed to work at Hogwarts, but he couldn't imagine what purpose the monument held.

They moved forward, the Jounin beginning the painstaking process of finding patterns in his surroundings. Kakashi had plenty of time to observe as they made their way to the end of the room—the Minister could barely walk a single meter without being addressed with some problem or another. He dealt with them swiftly and efficiently, exchanging few words before his subordinate scurried off again.

He identified groups of coworkers walked swiftly in little, close-knit crews, cutting each other off and layering sentence over sentence. Errand boys rushed from one place to another, arms full of stacks of papers and heads bowed. The throngs of people crowding the hall slowly worked themselves into two distinct groups—those arriving and those departing.

Harry stood at his side, doing his best to listen in on the conversations surrounding Minister Fudge.

"Don't you think we ought to stop by security, Minister?" Harry overheard the blond-haired man prompting as they made their way past a crowded desk.

"Nonsense, Hennison," Fudge replied casually, "There's no need to bore Harry with dreary business of that sort."

"Besides," the violet-clad woman added with a sweet smile, "He hasn't got his wand, yet, so there isn't anything to worry about."

The blond eyed Kakashi suspiciously, but didn't protest further.

The crowd slowly broke around them as they approached a line of golden-gated lifts, and with the Minister's influence they were able to procure the next one that ground to a stop on their floor. Harry had been on a lift once before—when his uncle had been forced to take him with him to work because his aunt had been ill and Mrs. Figg away visiting relatives. He climbed aboard eagerly and looked around as the gates crashed closed again.

Kakashi eyed the rattling chains critically as the lift jolted into motion and began a slow, steady journey up, vibrating the entire way.

"You see, Harry—" Fudge started.

"Level seven," a female voice suddenly announced out of nowhere and everywhere, "Department of…"

The Minister raised his voice and continued, "—Every floor encompasses a different department within the ministry. Very efficient."

Harry glanced at the row of buttons on the console, "So then there's nine—no, eight departments?"

"Six, actually," Fudge corrected, "The lower levels are mostly for the court rooms, and level one is the legislative floor—that would be where my office is, Harry, among other things."

Harry paused to listen to the woman's voice, announcing the floor they were arriving at—_"Level six, Department of Magical Transport."_

The lift didn't stop, but continued to rattle up. "What sorts of departments does a wizard government have?" He asked, trying to keep half his attention on the woman's announcements.

"Oh… the usual things," Fudge replied good-humouredly, launching himself into his explanation with an air of smugness.

* * *

It took a total of twenty-seven minutes for the two shinobi to lose their escorts—the tall, black-skinned man was particularly persistent, Kakashi noted as he watched the scowling man scramble by below them for what must have been the fifth time.

Motioning to his brother, Kakashi formed a hand seal and dropped to the floor. A black haired man dropped beside him a split-second later and Kakashi nodded in satisfaction, tilting his head towards the lifts.

They joined the constant flow of people, sparser here than it had been on the entry floor, and secured their position in a lift. With a jerk that had the brunet Kakashi had become cringing, the lift started to drop.

On just about every floor there was an exchange of passengers—a pair stepping off and immediately hurrying down the hall, or else someone pushing their way on. Sometimes the passengers were accompanied by multiple origami gliders that appeared to be self-propelled. Kakashi had to look twice to be sure that was what they were.

"Level six," the voice said at last, as the lift ground to a halt and the gates crashed open to allow an impatient looking woman to board, "Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the—"

Kakashi shouldered his way off the lift and Harry caught up to him a moment later. With a clatter, the lift continued on its way and the two wizards disappeared from the empty hallway.

Harry thought hard about how 'portkey' would be spelt—he knew it would start with a _P_, but wasn't sure what sort of _oh_ came next. He glanced at the words printed on the nearest door as a paper airplane soared underneath them towards the lifts.

He could tell in an instant that it wasn't what they were looking for. With a small shake of his head, Harry moved on, Kakashi following him across the ceiling.

* * *

Bernadette Guelder looked up from her paperwork when the door opened, and she stared in surprise at the most unusual pair she'd ever seen in daylight. The pair of them wore matching headbands—Guelder guessed the symbol on the front was sports-related, although she didn't know any Quidditch team with an emblem that shared such a resemblance.

They had surprisingly white hair—presumably a side-effect of a potion, although Guelder couldn't guess whether it had been done on purpose or accidentally—and wore skin-tight masks over the lower half of their faces. They were both decked out with a full ensemble of pouches, pockets, and oddly placed bandages that didn't seem to hold any particular purpose.

When they paused to look at her, Guelder noticed the elder boy—there was no way an adult would dress so oddly—had his headband pulled over his left eye and wondered, briefly, why.

"Can I… help you?" She forced out, remembering her duties.

"… Is this the Portkey Office?" The younger boy asked, drawing the woman's attention from the elder of the pair.

"Yes, it is," Guelder confirmed, "However, you need a—" she never finished because with her words the room fell into immediate chaos.

Another pair of boys that looked identical to the elder boy rushed in through the door and in the time it took her to draw her wand, every witch and wizard in her department had been wound tightly in wires—sometimes in groups of twos and threes—and thrown to the floor in the middle of the room. And then one of the taller boys was beside her, wrist clamped around the forearm of her wand arm and a knife pressed against her neck.

Guelder was too stunned to protest when his hand slid up her arm to remove her wand from shaking fingers. Then the younger boy was in front of her again.

"Who's in charge here?"

The woman's lips moved, but she couldn't seem to find her voice. She stuttered silently for a moment before falling still, utterly bewildered. She felt rather as though someone had hit her with a confundus charm, because at the moment nothing seemed to be making any sense.

The man—his grip was far too tight and his gaze too sharp to be a boy—said something in a low voice and the boy glanced from Guelder to the door. The witch's eyes widened—the handle was turning.

The door never opened, however, as in one swift motion the boy had struck the side of the handle with the butt of his knife, the force of the blow bending the entire handle and jamming the door.

The man said something else and the boy nodded, moving around the side of Guelder's desk. The woman's breath caught in her throat, but the boy didn't even spare her with a glance. Instead, he manhandled the desk, shoving at it with surprising strength—not so surprising after she'd seen what he did to the door—and maneuvered it as an additional barricade in front of the door.

One of the other identical men had effortlessly lifted a desk further down, and dropped it on top of Guelder's own, effectively blocking off the door completely. The boy turned back to her.

"Make me a portkey."

"…" Guelder looked around the room. One of the men was gathering additional desks and positioning them not only in front of the door, but in what looked like strategic locations around the room. The other—the one that wasn't still providing a threatening presence at her neck—was confiscating the wands of the witches and wizards of the department. He wasn't being too gentle, either.

"O-of course," she relented, hoping whoever had been at the door had realized something was wrong and gone for help. "We have papers…" She trailed off under the masked boy's gaze, somehow doubting the party would be willing to submit paperwork and wait for things to be processed normally.

"… First we need your intended destination," the witch explained reluctantly.

"Konohagakure," the boy said.

Guelder blinked, a frown pulling at her eyebrows, "Excuse me?"

"Anywhere in the village is fine."

"I'm… not familiar with that location," Guelder said reluctantly, and she paused when she noticed the second man had moved on to shifting curiously through the piles of potential portkeys organized on the other side of the room, carelessly picking things up and tossing them aside. "I…" she forced her eyes away, "We'll have to consult the map for its exact location…"

The boy stared at her a moment longer before looking to the man beside her and saying something which went right over the witch's head. She was fairly sure they weren't using a spell to confuse what they were saying, because none of the strangers had pulled out a wand, yet. Which meant they had to be speaking another language to each other. Foreigners? Guelder wondered.

The man eased his grip on her and reluctantly released her, nonchalantly spinning Guelder's wand in the fingers of one hand. She swallowed and painfully tore her eyes away from the wand when the boy spoke again.

"Consult the map."

With a small nod, Guelder led the way to the large world map that hung on the wall. She glanced nervously back at the pair that followed her, and raised a hand to her neck. She didn't feel any blood, but the sensation of the knife pressed against her skin remained like the tickling of a ghost. Dropping her hand, Guelder nervously wiped the sweat from her palm onto her fancy blue robes and looked up at the map.

"Konoha…?"

"Konohagakure," the boy supplied from her left side.

The poor witch almost jumped in fright; she hadn't noticed the boy circling around to her other side. Nodding shakily, she repeated, "Find: Konohagakure."

A set of red crosshairs immediately stirred into motion, lazily roving around the map, away from the previous destination. Guelder watched expectantly until it changed directions twice. Then she began to grow nervous. Seconds ticked by until nearly a full minute had passed, and she cast an anxious glance across at the man on her right.

"It—uh—it… doesn't seem to be finding it," she reported nervously, looking back at the boy, "Do you know the country? Sometimes if there's more than one city with that name…"

"Hi no Kuni," the boy answered promptly, hesitated, and then added, "Fire Country."

Guelder hesitated, wondering at the sanity of their captors, and cast an anxious gaze in the direction of her bound coworkers—the man had confiscated all of their wands, by now, and was circling them menacingly.

"Find," she said reluctantly, "Fire Country."

The crosshairs continued their meandering path.

After several more long seconds, the witch turned back to the boy, "This map can pinpoint any location on the face of the earth. Is this some kind of joke? What do you people want?"

Instead of answering, the boy and the man had another quick conversation in their own language before the man jerked her aside and the boy took up position in front of the map.

"Find: Hi no Kuni," he demanded.

The crosshairs continued their languid, wandering path.

"Find: Tanzaku Gai."

The man shifted, but there was still no response on the map.

Glaring, the boy tried one more time, "Find: Surrey."

Immediately the crosshairs changed direction, making a beeline for Southern Britain and coming to rest over a plain splotch of ground. The boy looked up sharply.

"What would make the map unable to find a location?" He demanded.

Guelder hesitated, "… There are only two reasons for the map to be unable to find someplace. Either that place doesn't exist, or it is magically hidden with an unplottable spell."

The boy looked at the map again, "Find: Hogwarts."

Once again, the crosshairs began to wander. The boy's eyes narrowed further.

"How can you get to an unplottable location?"

"There's no way," the witch replied, then hesitated, "Well… if you know the latitude and longitude, it is possible."

The boy didn't have a chance to question further, because all of a sudden the desks exploded inward. The trapped witches and wizards in the middle of the room shouted, and the man who had been nearest to the doors was crushed in the onslaught—Guelder couldn't see his body, but he had to be at least badly injured after taking a hit like that.

"Harii!" The man holding her snapped, adjusting his grip and tensing behind her.

* * *

Exactly three hours and one furious Minister head in his fireplace after the Hatake had left, Dumbledore found himself whistling contentedly as he made his way down to greet the return of his guests at the front gate.

"Welcome back," the wizard said cheerfully, a wide smile on his aged face, "I trust you enjoyed your tour of the Ministry?"

Kakashi made a disgruntled noise and stalked past him, with Harry half a step behind him.

An entire compliment of seven Aurors hesitated at the edge of the grounds, watching as the two shinobi made their way up to the castle.

"That will be enough, thank you," Dumbledore assured them, "We'll take care of things from here."

With a smile, the old wizard turned back towards his castle. It seemed as though Fudge might have gotten something right, after all. He'd have to ask Harry later, when the boy was feeling more charitable, if they'd discovered what he hoped they had.


	8. Untimely Interruptions

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: Similarly to how my efforts to make tamagoyaki have thusfar been unsuccessful, every effort I've made to gain ownership of _Harry Potter_ or _Naruto _has fallen flat on its face. So again, I must confess that I own neither.

Ha! I managed to get this chapter up on time! I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it for a while... But I did. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and encouraged me to update quickly.

A quick note on the beginning of the chapter (because if I don't say this I may seem to contradict myself later), Harry's a Genin and hasn't learned Shunshin no Jutsu, yet. Keep in mind that anything said (or thought) by an ignorant person is not necessarily correct.

I feel the compulsion to announce that last Friday (10/10) I earned my black belt in Taekwon-Do... There's no real point to this announcement, I'm just pleased with myself. (Ignore my rambling.) Ah... but the next chapter should be posted Tuesday, November 4th. I hope you enjoy chapter 8 in the meantime, and bear with my cruelty at not answering so many of your questions just yet...

Fixed a few spelling errors (4/13). Thanks, tati1.

Chapter 8 – Untimely Interruptions

After spending an hour and a half working off his built up frustration, Harry grudgingly made his way back into the castle to meet with Lupin.

It was the eve of his birthday already and a familiar sense of failure was creeping over the nearly-thirteen-year-old.

When his brother was thirteen, he'd achieved the rank of Jounin. He'd been in charge of teams of ninja and devised a method to control an alien bloodline technique. It had become a morbid habit of Harry's to compare himself to his brother, and every year he found himself falling short of the elder boy's genius.

He'd graduated a year early himself, and his track-record on missions wasn't bad. His team held a ninety-three percent success rate and had good standings in the Chuunin Exams they'd participated in. Still, he'd been a Genin for two years now, and it didn't look like he'd be climbing the ranks anytime soon—not if he was stuck in Britain.

In the shinobi world it was strength and cunning that mattered the most, and those were measured by the rank awarded through the Hokage. No matter how he looked at it, he was weak. That's how he let himself be captured by these wizards, and it was probably why they were having such a hard time finding a way home. If it had been just Kakashi, it would be a simple matter of a Shunshin no Jutsu and he'd be back in the village.

Releasing a sigh, Harry pulled open the door to Lupin's office. The man was already there, and he glanced up from a sheet of paper when Harry arrived. Smiling, the man turned from his desk and began closing the distance between them.

"Good morning, Harry. You've been doing well at reading lately," Lupin said, pausing next to his coat rack, "Professor Dumbledore thinks it would be a good idea to start on practical magic now, too."

Harry frowned, "Practical magic…?"

"Like spell-casting," Lupin supplied, grabbing his brown cloak, "And you can start working on potions since Professor Snape is back."

Harry wasn't sure he liked the idea of working on anything with Snape—they'd been able to successfully avoid each other so far in the large castle, and he'd rather keep it that way.

"So I set aside today to take you to Diagon Alley," Lupin finished, sliding his arms into the cloak. "Is that alright?"

It seemed a bit suspicious to Harry. He didn't think he was reading any better now than he'd been a week ago, before the fiasco at the Ministry, but now that Kakashi was gone, Lupin all of a sudden wanted to take him someplace else.

Two days earlier Kakashi had left Hogwarts, telling Harry only that he'd _be back_. He wasn't sure where the teenager had went or what he was doing. He wasn't even sure _when_ Kakashi was planning on returning.

"Did you wait to ask until now because you didn't want to bring Kakashi-niisan?" Harry asked blithely.

The man blinked, then his expression turned sheepish, "Well… things will probably go more smoothly without him there… But more importantly, we had to wait for the publicity your… appearance at the ministry caused to die down."

Harry couldn't prevent the small smirk that appeared on his lips. It had been great working on a mission under his brother—even an unofficial mission. Kakashi had planned things out well in a very short amount of time, and they had carried it out without a hitch. If Kakashi ever decided to train a team of Genin, he was sure they'd be the best.

The boy's smile disappeared again. For a brief time he'd actually believed they were on their way back to Konoha. And then all of his hopes had been mercilessly crushed.

How could the Portkey office not know how to get them back to Fire Country? The woman hadn't even seemed to know what he was talking about. Yet they had come to Hogwarts from Konoha, so there must be a way back.

Harry was beginning to wonder if they ever _would_ find a way back. Everything they tried led them to another dead end.

* * *

They appeared in the middle of a dim, shabby room, with small round tables and an ancient bar at one end. Harry shook off his disorientation—apparition was the most uncomfortable mode of travel he'd ever experienced—and resisted the urge to check that his face was still the right shape.

Movement behind them alerted Harry that they weren't alone and the Genin spun around to face the back of the bar, hand moving towards his weapon pouch. Four men stood between Lupin and him and the back of the bar—tall and grim-faced and wearing crisp black robes with a gold emblem on the right breast. Harry didn't recognize their faces, but the emblems matched those that the wizard forces who'd fought them at the Ministry wore. His eyes narrowed in anticipation.

"Harry, relax," Lupin murmured beside him, "The Ministry sent these men as… a show of good faith, to protect you during your visit."

Harry didn't relax—the men were eyeing him distrustfully. It seemed as though they'd be more likely to stab him in the back than take a knife for him.

"Professor Lupin, I presume," a man with dark tan skin, thick lips, and a somewhat crooked nose said thickly as he stepped forward among his cohorts, "And… Mr. Potter. We should depart immediately."

Harry glared right back when the man's dark eyes fell on him—the Ministry could have decided it was a mistake bringing him here after all. These men could easily have been sent to assassinate him. The injustice of the possibility alone was enough to infuriate the Genin.

Lupin nodded calmly and offered their escorts a wan smile. "Yes, of course. This way, Harry," he added, moving straight towards the men.

The group parted for him and Harry reluctantly followed, the hairs on the back of his neck itching under his mask and his right hand resting obviously close to his pouch. Although Lupin didn't strike Harry as a malicious man, he was far too trusting for his own good. Harry wouldn't be able to relax his guard until they were safely away from these unknown factors.

* * *

Harry had never been to as miserable a place as Diagon Alley before. A third of the store fronts were boarded up and those that were not were only sparsely populated by customers. Large purple posters were plastered over every surface. Harry wasn't quick enough to read them in their entirety, but they bore the heading of _Ministry of Magic_ and _Protecting Your Home and Family Against Dark Forces_.

The few people that were about scurried past them in small, tight-knit groups. Most turned to briefly gawk at the group parading down the cobble-road, but they returned to their business faster than Harry would have thought.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Harry picked up his pace slightly to walk astride with Lupin.

"This is all stores?" He asked quietly, peering around for any sign of apartment buildings or houses. He couldn't imagine so much space being devoted purely to commercial purposes—the notion was almost ridiculous.

Lupin nodded, "Diagon Alley is purely commercial—wizards and witches from all over travel by floo or apparition to shop here."

Harry frowned—apparition was bad enough when it was just people. Squeezing through that tiny space between one location and another would have to be even more uncomfortable with luggage. It would be more efficient to have the commercial areas mixed with the residential, like in Konoha, so that people could walk to their local stores.

"Don't wizards have any nice transportations?" He asked—certainly he couldn't be the only one who disliked being yanked around by portkeys and crushed through to apparate.

"… There's the Knight Bus, I suppose," Lupin replied, "But that's really not safe these days. Anyone can hail it down, including Death Eaters…" He glanced sideways at the boy, "Harry, we really shouldn't talk in the open."

Harry frowned but didn't press the subject.

"… I suppose we should stop off at Gringott's first," Lupin said a moment later, his voice raised to the entire group.

"That won't be necessary," a second guard said from Lupin's right—the man was almost as pale as Lupin, but his thin frame was visibly muscled, even with most of it concealed by the large robe that he wore. One hand slipped into a pocket and Harry tensed again, but all the man drew out was a small bag, "I was sent to the bank earlier. We've already withdrawn plenty of funds for Mr. Potter."

Harry's forehead wrinkled. "Funds?" He repeated in confusion, glancing distrustfully at the pale man and Lupin as the man passed the small bag to the teacher.

Lupin opened it, peering inside before holding it towards Harry, "Of course. It looks like there's plenty there to buy your supplies."

Harry felt inside the bag and drew out a few polished coins. He stared—they were heavier than he was used to, solid lumps of metal, and he was fairly sure that the heaviest ones were pure gold. The Genin felt a little nervous just carrying the coins; he'd never touched real gold before, even on his missions.

"The gold ones are Galleons," Lupin explained, "The silver are Sickles—seventeen to a Galleon—and the bronze are Knuts—that's twenty-nine to a Sickle. Can you keep that straight?"

Harry nodded, his mind racing—he wondered how all of that would convert to Ryo. "This is for my supplies, then? What are you giving it to me for?"

The man looked baffled for a moment before he smiled slowly, "It's not a loan, Harry, if that's what you're thinking. This money belongs to you."

Harry blinked and frowned a little harder, "For helping you?"

"For _being_ you," Lupin corrected, "Among wizards, parents typically pass their fortunes down to their children. Your father was from an old and wealthy family, so I'm sure you have more gold underneath Gringotts than you'll ever need."

Harry glanced at him in surprise but didn't say anything. He'd never expected to find out he was rich. He'd heard of practices like that in civilian families, but when a shinobi died, their money was returned to the Hokage. In turn, if a shinobi ever died and left behind family who could not care for themselves, the Hokage would expend money to care for that family until their circumstances changed.

As Hatake, he and Kakashi had inherited the land that belonged to their clan, but that was all as far as Harry knew. Money was something that had to be worked for to gain—it had never before been something that was simply given to him.

"We'll order your robes, first, then," Lupin decided, motioning to a store front a little up the road.

Harry let the coins fall back into the sack and looked up, his face set in a grim line.

* * *

After almost three hours of moving from place to place and collecting more supplies than even a Genin could keep balanced, the small troupe finally wound their way back to the last store. Harry followed Lupin inside, and the two of them were accompanied by two of their escorts, while the other two remained at the door.

"Ollivander's is the only place for wands, Harry," Lupin murmured as they stepped into the oppressive weight of the silent shop. Harry gazed around at the small welcome area, which was quickly becoming crowded with the number of their party, then at the rows of shelves stuffed with narrow boxes that filled most of the room.

The atmosphere was gloomy: the lights were dim and cobwebs clung to corners and strung their way from one light fixture to another and across the tops of the shelves. The window at the front was grimy—and even if it wasn't, it was plastered over with posters like all of the other store fronts, letting very little of the waning sunlight in around them. There was no sign of the store clerk.

"Good evening," a balding man with wispy white hair and large, pale blue eyes, suddenly emerged from behind one of the bookcases. His large eyes quickly took in his customers, and his pale eyes glittered when they landed on Harry, an eager look creeping into his expression.

"Ah—Harry Potter. I must say, I'd almost given up hope of seeing you in here," he said softly, "Yes, but I read about the fiasco at the Ministry and thought it might have something to do with you."

Harry's expression closed off immediately—it was disconcerting how everyone seemed to know who he was, and this man was even stranger than the usual. He spoke as though he'd been expecting—waiting—for him, and it raised every sense of alert that had been pounded into the young shinobi as a child.

"Mr. Ollivander," Lupin stepped forward, a pleasant quirk on his mouth, "It's good to see you again."

The man tore his gaze from Harry, "Ah! Remus Lupin—yes, I remember you. Walnut, nine and three-quarter inches long. A fine wand, still serving well, I presume."

"It hasn't let me down, yet," Lupin agreed.

"Well, it wouldn't, would it? Very dependable." His eyes slid back to Harry, "And now Mr. Potter's for an order. Which is your wand arm?"

Harry hesitated before reluctantly supplying, "My right, I suppose."

"Good—hold it out then," the man demanded, drawing a measuring tape with silver markings from his pocket.

Scowling under his mask, and hoping to finish things as quickly as possible, Harry complied, allowing the man to begin his measurements.

Ollivander continued a soft monologue as he worked, explaining the particulars of the wands he serviced, and the process of equipping Harry with one. The Genin wasn't sure he understood everything the man said, but he got the gist of it, standing uncomfortably rigid as more measurements than seemed necessary were taken.

The proctor turned to retrieve a box from a nearby shelf, although the tape measure continued its work without him. Harry grimaced, snatching the object out of the air and holding it tightly—from his position a few steps off to the side, he distinctly heard Lupin chuckle.

Harry glared when Ollivander turned towards him again, but the old man didn't seem to take any notice, calmly taking the tape measure from the boy's hand and returning it to his pocket as he held out the box.

"Try this one, if you will. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches and nice and flexible. Take it and give it a wave," Ollivander directed, peering intently at him.

Harry lifted the lid of the box and plucked up the stick inside—again, he felt a disquieting sort of energy from the object. He was about to give it a flick, like instructed, but the wand-maker snatched it away again with a speed that even the Genin found admirable.

"Not that one," Ollivander said simply, turning to retrieve another a bit further down the shelf.

Lupin had reclined in one of the two spindly-legged chairs by the window, and Harry had a pile of a good twenty discarded wands near his feet before anything unusual happened.

Ollivander passed him a final box, his large eyes wide and expectant with a glimmer of excitement that had been growing ever since Harry had arrived. Reluctantly, the Genin lifted the wand from its case.

The unsettling sensation of unfamiliar power spread through him again, only this time it was magnified far above what he'd felt while holding any of the other wands—including the ones he'd confiscated from Pomfrey and Dumbledore some time back. Sparks burst out of the tip—Lupin let out a delighted, "Ah!" behind him and a grin crossed the aged shop-keeper's face.

Harry dropped the wand in surprise, his hand swiftly dropping to his kunai pouch and his heart pounding in his chest.

"Harry, are you alright?" Lupin asked quickly, jumping to his feet as the two guards that had followed them inside moved to draw their wands.

The Genin glanced surreptitiously around, but the wand lay innocuously on the floor and the five of them were still alone in the shop. Ollivander made a noise of disapproval, stooping to retrieve his fallen wand.

"You had best be more careful with your wand in the future, Mr. Potter," the old man lectured, "It may not seem like much now, but wands are finicky things and you would do well to show it the proper respect if you want it to serve you well." He held the wand towards the boy again, but Harry was reluctant to take it.

"Why did it spark?" He asked, irritated that he'd been so easily flustered, and annoyed with the shop-keeper and the others for not warning him what would happen. It had been a long day, full of strange things he'd been forced to accommodate, and Harry was tired of all the surprises.

"The wand has chosen you," Ollivander supplied vaguely, "No other wand will ever give you such good results…" He hesitated, looking at the wand he held, and then added, speculatively, "It's curious, though…"

Harry scowled, "_What's_ curious?"

Ollivander glanced back up at him, expression unreadable, "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother… why, it's brother gave you your scar, Mr. Potter."

Harry's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches," Ollivander continued, watching him carefully, "Yew. Curious, indeed, how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things."

The guards shot him sharp looks and Ollivander added calmly, "Terrible, yes, but great.

Harry again said nothing—he wasn't sure what he could say to that, and he had a lot to think about. So the wand that he had been given—that had _chosen _him, if Ollivander's words were to be taken literally—was somehow connected to the wand of the man who'd tried to kill him as an infant. It was certainly an unlikely coincidence.

* * *

Harry spent most of his birthday abusing the trees near the edge of the forest on Hogwarts' grounds and wondering why his brother wasn't back yet.

It wasn't that Harry expected the Jounin to be back for his birthday—he'd spent more than one alone in the last six years—but the older teen's absence was now stretching on for a week and he imagined Kakashi would have told him if he'd planned on being gone for so long.

Late in the afternoon he finally dragged himself back up to the castle, aching from the intensive practice. It hadn't been nearly as hard as the days he'd put in under Kakashi and Gai's tutelage in preparation for the Chuunin Exams only a few weeks before, but he hadn't been training as regularly as he probably should have since. Silently, Harry vowed to change that, because it would be too embarrassing to return to the village and have even Inaho be a level above him.

After showering he reluctantly gathered his books and the box that still held his new wand and made his way through the twisting corridors to the chakra seal at Lupin's office. The man looked pleased to see him.

"I wasn't sure you were going to come today," Lupin admitted with a smile, "Have you had a good day so far?"

Harry gave a non-committal shrug of his shoulders, "It's been… useful."

"Ah… well, that's good," Lupin replied uncertainly. His smile reasserted itself, "I was hoping you'd stop by, actually. I want to give you something…"

The man rummaged through a drawer of his desk and emerged with a package a moment later; a rectangular object covered with glossy red paper that had what looked like tiny golden birds zipping across it. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever get used to seeing moving objects on things like clothes and papers.

"It isn't much," Lupin added awkwardly, running a hand through his graying hair, "But I hope you'll find it… useful. Happy birthday, Harry."

Harry stared at him blankly for a moment at the unexpected gesture. He'd only once received any gifts for his birthday, and he didn't know of anyone that did. He had grown accustomed to their absence, and hadn't even imagined receiving gifts for several years.

Blinking, Harry felt his face beginning to heat up. "Ah… thank you, Lupin-sensei… you really didn't have to get me anything…"

Lupin grinned at the blush spreading across the boy's cheeks. "I wanted to," he assured Harry, "I've enjoyed getting to know you recently. I only wish I could do more for you."

Harry smiled awkwardly, feeling a little silly, and accepted the gift. It didn't feel quite right. He barely knew Lupin and certainly hadn't tried to establish good terms with the man. In fact, he was quite sure he'd insulted him on numerous occasions. He'd sooner expect something from Kakashi than Lupin—and Kakashi had a six year track record of forgetting his birthday.

"… Arigatou," he mumbled again and self-consciously began to rip the paper under the man's gaze.

He pulled out a thick book and turned it over in his hands, reading the title with only a little difficulty. "… The History of Hogwarts." He glanced up at Lupin.

"I know—ah—ninja like to know as much about their surroundings as they can, so I thought you might find our history interesting," Lupin offered uncertainly.

Harry's flush had subsided and his smile came a little more easily, "Thank you, Lupin-sensei. I'm sure it will be useful."

* * *

Harry frowned at the feather in consternation. In between studying facts about magical creatures wizards considered dark, he'd begun practicing a few elementary charms and spells under Lupin's watchful eye. So far, it hadn't been of much use.

He could swish and flick as much as he wanted to, but Harry couldn't get his target to so much as quiver. His wand felt like a foreign entity in his hand, thrumming with a wild and untamable energy. It shouldn't be difficult, Lupin had said, but Harry had no idea how to draw the power from the wand or mold it to his will.

With Jutsu it was easy. With a bit of concentration, chakra was simple enough to mix and the seals gave it purpose when he released it. A swish and flick were more vague than anything the Genin had tried before, and the awkward Latin command didn't seem to serve any purpose other than a distraction for his mind.

After three days without results, Lupin seemed as tired and confused as he was.

"This should come relatively easy for you, Harry," the man noted again with a touch of frustration.

"Maybe I'm not really a wizard after all," Harry offered doubtfully—strange things had happened around him as long as he could remember, and he'd been told he was a wizard from the person he'd once trusted more than anyone else.

"… Even if your father wasn't a wizard, your mother was a very talented witch," Lupin's eyebrows drew together in concentration, as though trying to remember something he'd forgotten, "Even as a baby you displayed an aptitude for magic."

"… It must be something else," the man mused, "Students often have trouble pronouncing the spell, but you seem fine with that… and your wand movements look right, too." He trailed off, peering down at the book lying on his desk.

"I don't understand how you focus the magic," Harry offered, "With chakra it's obvious, but how are you supposed to focus something out of a stick?"

Lupin blinked at him and took a moment to respond, "The magic isn't _in_ your wand, Harry, and you don't really need to _focus_ it. That's what your wand is for. Magic is… just something you do naturally."

Harry stared blankly at the man, and then glanced at the feather. For something that came naturally, it sure didn't seem to be coming easily.

"Think about it like this," Lupin advised, "Before you had a wand, you could still do magic, you just couldn't focus it to perform a specified task on command. Now, with a wand and a spell, let that power that you were never be able to consciously tap into before do its work."

Harry frowned dubiously at the wand, "So I focus it by not focusing it?"

Lupin sighed, "That's not exactly what I… Just try to concentrate on the words, Harry, and what you want the feather to do. Don't think about how it works, just let it happen."

At the Academy, Harry had been forced to sit through lectures on chakra theory before he was ever allowed to attempt to even mold his own chakra. Those had been some of the most mind-numbing hours of his life, but at least when he'd first made a duplication of himself, he hadn't been surprised.

Magic, apparently, was taught the other way around, and he was expected to use an energy he knew nothing about in a method with no direction. It was like throwing a kunai at a target in the dark—it all seemed like guess work. Just try until something works, and then do his best to repeat the process.

Harry sighed and flicked his wand again, "Wingardium Leviosa…"

* * *

Harry had managed to avoid the man his brother fought until the fifth day after his thirteenth birthday. For once he was looking forward to his lesson with Lupin—he'd gotten the hang of his first spell the day before, and Lupin had assured him that it would only get easier from there.

However, Lupin wasn't in his office. Instead, Snape stood inside the door, looking generally unhappy and snappish. Harry hesitated.

"Professor Lupin is feeling… _ill_… today," Snape sneered, "I will be beginning your potion's lesson in his stead. Although I highly doubt you will ever catch up with the curriculum."

Harry returned the dark haired man's glower and resisted the urge to raise his mask. At this point it would seem more like a confession of how uneasy the man made him than anything. He held his tongue and didn't move, every muscle in his body tense.

"… We will work in my classroom," Snape ground past his scowl once it became obvious the teen would not be rising to his bait. With a stiff frigidness, he swept past the Genin and swiftly led the way, wand in hand.

Harry kept three steps behind him the entire way, eyes glued on the man's shoulders and muscles tightly stressed. Should Snape attempt to attack him, Harry would be ready.

The classroom was on the third floor, although there were no windows and Harry reflected that the grimy stone walls and floor looked as though it would be more at home underground. Snape, too, appeared as though he'd be more at home underground, Harry thought vindictively, and entertained himself with ideas of how he could send the man there.

"Take out your text and turn to page five," Snape demanded as he made his way to the front of the room, not even looking back at his solitary student.

"If you mean my potions' book, I don't have it," Harry retorted, glad to disappoint the man, "Lupin-sensei didn't mention potions for today."

The man's dark eyes glared at the Genin and he ground out, "Then you had _best_ go _retrieve_ it."

Harry left without a word, though not before throwing the man one final, nasty look before leaving.

The Genin was strongly tempted to skip Snape's class altogether. He doubted mixing together odd ingredients would help him in either returning to Konoha or killing Voldemort. But Kenji-sensei had ground it into his head back at the Academy that what he didn't know _could_ kill him and Harry wasn't in any rush to be killed.

Still, the thirteen-year-old took his time returning to the chakra marker he'd placed just outside Snape's room. It was a good hour and a half since he'd left, and he wasn't particularly surprised to find the classroom empty.

His cauldron had been set up at the end of a table near the front of the room and Harry slipped into a seat, opening his text and beginning to read—the perfect picture of a good student.

The ingredients sounded like nonsense in his head. They certainly weren't related to English words he'd heard before. He took note of them once and then skipped over the odd words, as had become his habit when reading for Lupin. He could typically glean the meaning of a chunk of writing even if he didn't understand _every_ word.

Fifteen minutes later the door banged open again and a furious looking Snape stormed inside.

"Get _lost_ on your way, _Potter_?" He bit out nastily.

"Not at all, Snape-sensei," Harry replied coolly, not looking up even as his muscles coiled tightly inside of him.

"That's _Professor_ Snape," the man corrected venomously, "I don't care where you've been for the last seven years—you're in Hogwarts now and you will conform to our cultural customs, _Mr. Potter_."

Harry finally looked up, green eyes sharp, "If you expect me to respect _your_ culture, _Professor_ Snape, then respect _mine_ in turn. I am of the Hatake clan, and thus my surname is not _Potter_, it's _Hatake_." It was a mark of recognition in any Hidden Village to be part of a clan, thus, even if a child was born to a father from another family, he or she would be given the clan name of his or her mother.

The man eyed him coldly for a moment before turning suddenly and walking away. With a careless flick of his wand, words appeared on the blackboard.

"At least you have begun reading. Once you've read through page seventeen, you can begin on this potion," Snape said stiffly, "I expect you'll be more prompt with your studies in the future—I have no time to waste on little boys whose feelings have been hurt."

"I could say the same," Harry grumbled under his breath, turning his attention back to his book.

* * *

Over the next week new instructors steadily arrived. On Monday a dour faced woman with dark, graying hair arrived as well as a tiny man with hair that was even whiter than Harry's. Lupin introduced Harry to them briefly, but the two teachers were too busy preparing for the coming school year to offer him assistance in his studies for several days.

On Wednesday a thin woman with large eye glasses and a colorfully beaded shawl made an appearance in the Great Hall; and a plump, gray-haired witch with a raggedy hat was at breakfast Thursday morning. By dinner on Friday the table was full as the entire contingent of Hogwarts' professors had finally arrived—Lupin told Harry who each of them were several times, but the Genin found it difficult to keep their odd names straight.

By the start of the next week, Harry had entered an intensive sort of training that almost rivaled his Chuunin Exam regime. Seven core classes made up the Hogwarts' curriculum and Harry was cramming almost every one in every day. He studied Herbology and History an hour each day. He devoted two hours a day to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms and Potions, and then another two hours late in the evening three times a week for Astronomy.

On top of his academic workload, Harry did his best to fit in at least an hour of heavy training each morning. Falling into bed, exhausted, for days in a row, the Genin wasn't sure how long he could keep up such a demanding schedule. Everything he was taught bounced around in his head, and he could barely keep one subject straight from another.

The professors were relentless in their time with him, moving swiftly from one topic to another—if he didn't get a spell down in the first few tries, Professor McGonagall would tell him to practice it later and move mercilessly forward in her material.

"How am I supposed to practice it later when I have to study twelve hours a day already?" Harry finally snapped after several days of the back-breaking pace, "Do you expect me to do magic in my sleep?"

"If we don't cover as much material as possible now, you will be hopelessly behind at the start of the school year," the woman had replied coolly, "Now, let's move ahead a bit in your text—there's an interesting technique on page forty-eight…"

Harry gave up arguing and hoped the staff would relent a little when the school year began.

* * *

The following Wednesday, Harry was released after his afternoon Defense Against the Dark Arts session.

"The students will arrive in just a few hours," Lupin told him, "So everyone is busy with last minute preparations. Take it easy a little, Harry, you've been working hard."

Harry nodded in agreement—his head ached from studying so much, "I will… Lupin-sensei, what am I supposed to do at the… feast tonight?"

"Professor Dumbledore hasn't talked with you yet?" The man asked with a small frown.

"I haven't talked to him since my birthday," Harry replied—the man had stopped him briefly to congratulate him after dinner, and had given him a spindly, golden top.

"_Keep your mind clear and your senses sharp,"_ the wizard had advised him, _"I think that Hogwarts is a safe place for you, but once the school year begins, things are bound to happen."_

"_You don't need to tell a shinobi to be careful, Dumbledore-san,"_ Harry had replied coolly.

"Then I suggest you visit his office," Lupin said, "I think he plans on sorting you with the first years, but I don't know the details."

* * *

At seven o'clock that evening, Harry found himself standing in the shadows off to the side of the Great Hall. He watched carefully as students streamed through the wide double doors, chatting as they found their seats at one of the four long tables that had been moved into the Hall barely an hour earlier.

He felt a little squeamish about standing in front of such a large group, but Dumbledore had told him it was how every student was sorted and he hadn't been able to get out of it. Still, he felt comfortable standing in the shadows. Even those students that looked in his direction glanced right past him.

Within fifteen minutes the tables were full and the staff presided over the head table. The level of noise in the Great Hall only increased, every student trying to be heard over the next until, at last, the door opposite Harry opened and Professor McGonagall entered, leading a line of children in black robes.

As they approached the area in front of the staff table, the room slowly quieted, until there were only a few pockets of whispered conversation here and there. The witch made a motion with her wand, and a stool appeared in front of her, on top of which she placed a musty-looking old hat.

Harry peered at it with bemusement and recognized, after a few seconds, that it from one of the shelves in Dumbledore's office. The revelation, however, did nothing to relieve his confusion.

And then a rip in the hat's seam parted of its own accord, and a bellowing song began to issue from the thing.

It was a lengthy song with a complicated tune. Harry had never listened to much music before, and found it a little difficult to follow the lyrics. Nevertheless, he managed to catch enough to get the message—which had a lot to do with cooperation and the four founders of Hogwarts.

After a brief verse concerning sorting, the hat fell silent and the room broke into noise again as applause and whispers filled the student tables.

As the noise quieted down once more, McGonagall raised a scroll and began calling off names. Harry watched with interest as every child stepped forward to sit on the stool, wearing the hat for a moment or two before scurrying off to join one of the long tables.

When the last of the first years had been sent on their way, Dumbledore rose at the staff table and spoke, "Welcome! Our older students might be eager for their meals at this time, however I ask a little more patience of you tonight, for we have one more student to be sorted. He is an unusual case, so I hope that you will give him your attention."

McGonagall dutifully glanced at her list although she had no need to do so, "Hatake, Harry!"

Taking a deep breath and ignoring the wild whispers that bloomed all over the hall, Harry left his sanctuary in the shadows and swiftly crossed to where the professor was waiting, feeling extremely uncomfortable in the black robes he had reluctantly donned.

He sat promptly on the stool and was plunged into darkness as the hat settled over his head and covered his eyes.

Almost immediately the hat gave a shout, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry blinked as the hat was removed again and the table on the far left exploded with clapping and cheers, although among the noise, the Genin could still make out confused additions from the students.

"A new student who's not a first year? That's never happened before!"

"Hatake sounds foreign…"

"What's with the white hair?"

And, "Harry… you don't think…?"

"Thank you for bearing with us," Dumbledore said as McGonagall took the hat and waved her wand again, causing the stool to disappear. Two students parted to make room for him at the table and Harry quickly sat, trying to ignore the stares sent his way.

"But I will no longer keep you from your meal," the old wizard announced, and promptly sat down once more. As if triggered by his words, the tables suddenly filled with food and voices rose again in earnest.

Harry was bombarded with questions before he could even decide what to eat. He could barely make sense of it all and was desperately wishing he could have skipped the feast after all.

"What year are you going into?" A brown haired boy a few seats down, across the table finally managed to shout above his classmates.

For a brief moment things quieted down and Harry was able to give an answer, "Third, but—"

"Oh! You'll be with us, then," a boy with bright red hair blurted, his mouth full of food. He sat several seats down on Harry's right, and was leaning over his plate to get a better look, "Any good at Quidditch?"

"Honestly, is that all you boys think about?" An irritated voice across from the red-head demanded, and Harry glanced around at the bushy-haired girl that had spoken. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," she said, turning back to Harry, "Where did you transfer from? I've never heard of Hogwarts accepting students past their first year before."

Harry scratched the back of his head and was about to respond when a kid on his other side blurted out, "What's with that thing you're wearing around your head?"

"It's a memento from my village," Harry managed to answer before he was cut off by a first year a few seats down on his left.

"Why's it got a snail on it?!"

"It's not a snail—it looks more like an arrow!" A girl next to the other first year argued.

"It's—it's a leaf," Harry spoke over the other voices, annoyed, "The leaf is the—uh—symbol of our village."

Another red-head arrived just in time to save Harry from a second deluge of questions that were apparently spurred by the answers he'd already given. The tall, lanky boy made a brief appearance just behind them.

"Oi—quiet down a bit, the lot of you," the older boy demanded, adjusting a pin on his robes, "You've got all year to get to know him, so let Harry get a bite to eat, will you?"

The students around him fell into a guilty sort of silence and Harry took full advantage of this to help himself to some of his favorite foods. He ate quickly, and was glad for it when the questions started up again a few minutes later.

The impromptu interrogation wasn't all bad, though. Harry had so many questions fired at him at one time that he could easily pick and choose which ones to answer and which to leave alone without arousing suspicion. Until Hermione asked one that everyone wanted to hear the answer to.

"Your name is Harry and you've been allowed into Hogwarts even under unusual conditions," the girl said loudly, leaning over the table as much as she could, "_And_ you have white hair—are you Harry Potter?"

Harry's first instinct was to say that no, he wasn't Harry Potter. Dumbledore had expressed his concern over Harry's presence becoming common knowledge, and Harry had to agree with the need for secrecy.

"I read in the _Prophet_ that he's back," the girl added, staring straight into his eyes, "It only makes sense that he would come to Hogwarts since he's still underage."

Harry was saved from answering, as unlikely as it seemed, by Professor Dumbledore himself. The Headmaster chose that moment to get to his feet and begin a secondary speech, rattling off a list of announcements and warnings for the coming school year. Harry's fellow Gryffindors reluctantly turned their attention from their mysterious new classmate to the front of the room again.

By the time the Gryffindors' attention was removed from Harry, Dumbledore had just finished his introduction of the newest teacher—Professor Lupin for Defense Against the Dark Arts—and was beginning an apologetic announcement regarding the dropping of a class.

"Unfortunately," the Headmaster said, "Professor Kettleburn retired at the end of last year, and as no one stepped forward to replace him, Care of Magical Creatures is canceled for this year. If you are enrolled in this class, you will be approached by your Head of House tomorrow to arrange your enrollment in another class."

"Quidditch tryouts will be—" Dumbledore broke off suddenly as the doors to the Great Hall opened.

Every head, including Harry's, shot around to look, and several of the older students had gone for their wands. Harry already had a kunai in his hand, retrieved from the make-shift pocket he'd put into his robe for just such a purpose. The Genin relaxed, though, when he saw his brother in the doorway.

Whispers rose up again all around the hall as the young man silently stalked through the room, straight towards the staff table. He stopped right across from Dumbledore, and the man leaned forward, his words indistinguishable to the student body. Harry strained to see his face, but was unable to read the old man's lips through his long beard and mustache.

After a moment the Headmaster straightened again, "I think that's everything of importance. Off to bed now!"

Without even waiting to see how the student body responded, Dumbledore promptly left his seat and began walking towards the side room the first years had come out of—Kakashi mirroring him on the opposite side of the table.

Harry frowned and stood as well, taking a step in that direction when he was accosted by the tall red-head that had saved him earlier.

"Hold it there, Harry, the dormitory is this way," the boy stated, pulling his shoulder along a bit and calling out above the crowd, which had gotten noisy again, "First years, this way!"


	9. Striking a Deal

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: The ownership of _Naruto_ and _Harry Potter_ did not show up on election ballots this year, so they continue to belong to the incumbents... I'm sure if they _had_ been, I stood a chance of winning, though.

The thing I look forward to most with the conclusion of this election is all of those ugly political signs disappearing from people's lawns. I get so tired of looking at them. (No offense if you're one of those people who feels the need to share your opinion with the community through ugly political signs.) Seriously, though, I'm eagerly awaiting the results as much as anyone else, I just don't think the candidate's name means so much as what we've seen them accomplish in, say, a year or so.

But that has nothing to do with this chapter of _Sphere of Influence_, so if you can drag your eyes away from the political frenzy fofr a while, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. The next chapter is scheduled to come out on November 25, so check back for chapter 10, then. And I don't have any tests that week, so maybe I'll actually be able to get it up earlier in the day. Thanks for reading, enjoy! (And I'll try to get around to answering reviews today and tomorrow... I'm such a procrastinator--sorry!)

**Katon: Kaamakaze no Jutsu! **- Fire Style: Rain of Fire Technique (more or less)

Chapter 9 – Striking a Deal

Kakashi's face rested in his hands, elbows propped up on the table before him. The teenager groaned in frustration and rubbed his scalp roughly with the pads of his fingers, interwoven throughout his hair.

It had been three days since his embarrassing raid of the Portkey Office at the Ministry of Magic and the Jounin was beginning to resign himself to the possibility that they might be stuck for good. Or, at the very least, until they had done what Dumbledore wanted them to do.

Kakashi wasn't sure which would be worse at this point—giving in to the wizard's demands or never making it back to the village. Either way, he felt that he had rarely wanted to see a man's blood as much as he wanted to see Dumbledore's spill all over his castle floor.

It might not even be such a bad idea, the Jounin reflected, to try his hand at torture to get what he needed from the eccentric old man. However, Kakashi had found that if someone wanted to keep a secret badly enough, even torture rarely worked. A Genjutsu might do it—especially if he could get the Sharingan to work. Unfortunately, while he had grown proficient in using it to predict and copy moves during his time in ANBU, he hadn't been able to train with the Genjutsu aspect of the eye much.

Vowing to fix his oversight at the earliest opportunity, Kakashi yawned and drew his palms over his face, rubbing at his heavy eyes. Sitting a little straighter, the Jounin blinked to clear his vision and peered through the candle light at the books spread around him. He had to be missing something. It couldn't be possible for an entire continent to be completely hidden—there would always be clues.

The two pages of the world map in front of him were graffitied with lines and circles and kanji characters. He'd narrowed down the possible location to anywhere on an eastern-facing shore line—or anywhere in the vast oceans that covered almost two-thirds of the map. Finding it among all of that would take _years_, though, and they still might never find it—especially if it turned out to be a free-floating island. He could search the coastline first, but even that would take years.

Yawning again, Kakashi's eyebrows drew together in frustration. There had to be _something_.

* * *

"_Tousan, have you ever been to the sea?" Kakashi asked, looking up from the book sitting on the low table in front of him._

"_Of course," his father replied absently, lounging in his chair nearby, acutely studying the scroll opened across his legs._

"_Have you been on a boat?"_

_The man glanced up with a small smile, "Yes. I've been as far out as Haha Island in Umi no Kuni."_

"_Did you see any oni?" The boy asked eagerly._

"_Excuse me? Kakashi, sea monsters don't exist. They aren't real."_

"_But it says there might be oni," the five-year-old said with a somber frown as he regarded his textbook, "Are you sure, tousan?"_

"_Positive," Sakumo answered, "I can't believe they still say that. It's true that if you try to sail out too far, most boats are destroyed. The wind gets very strong on this sea and it capsizes and sinks the ships."_

"_Oh…so there really are no oni in the sea." The boy fell quiet again, his attention returning to his book. After several minutes, he looked up again, "What about mountain oni?"_

_The man let out a laugh, "I'm sure there aren't any monsters there, either, Kakashi."_

"_Have you been to them?" Kakashi asked curiously._

_His father was quiet for a long minute._

"_Tousan…?"_

_Slowly, a smile crossed the man's face, "I've been _past_ them, Kakashi."_

_The five-year-old frowned, "No you haven't! It says no one who's gone into the mountains ever returned! You can't have gone _past_ them, tousan."_

"_I didn't go _into_ the mountains… I went… sort of… _around_ them," Sakumo set his scroll aside and moved to kneel beside his son, shutting the book, "Besides, who are you going to believe? Your wonderful o-tousan or some stupid book?"_

"…" _Kakashi's face was set in a skeptical frown, but after a long moment he gave in, leaning against his father a little, "What was it like?"_

_The man frowned thoughtfully, hesitating before answering, "It's… big, Kakashi. Even if you had years, you couldn't explore everywhere."_

"_Bigger than Kaze no Kuni?"_

"_More than a hundred _times_ bigger than Wind Country."_

"_Nothing could be that big," Kakashi protested with disbelief, "It would sink!"_

"_It's that big," Sakumo defended adamantly, "And there's enough water to flood the desert a thousand times over."_

"…" _The five-year-old stared dryly at his father, torn between reason and the ingrained belief a child has for his father._

"_Have you ever heard the story of Bedera?" Sakumo asked abruptly, shifting slightly so he could hold his son in his lap._

_Silently, the boy shook his head._

"_He was an explorer, and he travelled all over the world…" the man paused, frowning, before plowing into his story._

"_He went to the far North and saw ice floating in the sea all year and ground that was impossible to break because it was always frozen. Large, strong people lived there, and the explorer only escaped because of his cleverness._

"_He went to the far South, where there were vast forests and hundreds of animals like he'd never seen before—horses with necks longer than their backs and flying beasts five times as large as a man. The people there had skin as dark as night and very strange customs._

"_He went far to the west, until he could see the sea, and found huge stone buildings, towers as tall as the sky and air thick with smoke. The people spoke many alien tongues and had pale faces and shaggy beards._

"_But the explorer missed his home. So he traveled back, far to the east, on the shore. And he never desired to leave again."_

"… _Is that a real story, tousan?" Kakashi asked dubiously._

"_Who knows?" His father said smiling, "But I wouldn't be surprised if people traveling across the mountains found something like that…"_

* * *

Kakashi startled awake when his head hit the table. The candle had burned to a stub, but the early morning light was shining through the window behind him. He stared blankly at the map, his eyes slowly moving between the four corners of the large land mass nearest to them.

Peering at the name of the northernmost country, Kakashi grabbed a second book and flicked lazily through it. He frowned as he stopped at an image of frozen tundra. Setting the book aside, he consulted the map again.

A little more quickly, he began to page through another book, taking in pictures of lush trees and wild undergrowth and black-skinned men and woman dressed in animal skins. Placing the open book beside the other, he grabbed a third book and flipped through the pages, his eyes widening as he took in images of smog-clouded cities and busy highways.

Laying the three books around the map, Kakashi stared at the pictures thoughtfully.

Could his father's story back then really have been true? Obviously he had been to this place at least once—had he inadvertently given Kakashi the clue he needed now, more than thirteen years after the matter?

Looking at the far eastern side of the map, Kakashi studied the coastline. If Konoha was there, he couldn't see it. But it would significantly decrease his search area. Instead of taking years, it might only take months to find. And if it really was on the shore, chances were good that he could find it.

Making up his mind to look into the possibility further, Kakashi began closing books. He tore the pages of the map he'd marked right out of the Atlas's spine and headed out of the library, muffling another yawn with his hand.

First things first—he had about four days worth of sleep he needed to catch up on before he could leave on such an expedition.

* * *

Kakashi made short work of crossing the island country of Great Britain. The security was lax, which made jumping a ride to the main land on a ship easy enough that even a Genin could have done it.

Within three days he'd discovered the countries of Greater Europe—and a different language to each.

Emboldened that yet another part of his father's story had proved true, the Jounin followed the coastline northeast until he came to the massive country of Russia.

Rather than continue north, where Kakashi was convinced he'd run into the frozen wasteland his father's story warned of, he veered east, following a road he hoped would traverse the monstrous land.

It was chilly when he stopped in Yekaterinburg. He'd depleted the supplies he'd brought from Hogwarts, so he settled down for the night in an inn—using money he'd commandeered on his journey—and unobtrusively began the process of obtaining additional supplies for the next leg of his journey. Later, he regretted not moving on immediately.

It was just past midnight—Kakashi was securing the door to the convenience store he'd visited for some non-perishable food items; the owner might miss a few things, but he'd never discover the theft—when the temperature abruptly plummeted. It was a clear and still night, and even with the sudden temperature flux, there was no wind. Kakashi drew his cloak tighter and shifted deeper into the shadows of a back street, his skin crawling with an ominous feeling.

The glass panels on the darkened side window of the convenience store frosted over, and the puddle under a nearby drainage pipe crusted over with ice as the temperature dipped below freezing. The Jounin had never experienced anything like it and was more confused than wary.

Did it have something to do with magic? And was this the strange phenomenon why the north of this land mass was always frozen? He wasn't sure, but he'd been many days in Russia already, so if that was true, why was he only now experiencing it?

Kakashi didn't have the chance to ponder the situation further, because a shriek of terror issued from several streets down. Kakashi risked movement, speeding to a slightly less shadowy alley where he could see what was happening. Despite the clear view he obtained, he could make no sense of what he saw.

A woman stood frozen in place, her face drained white and her mouth still open for a scream although the noise had stopped. She stood like that for several tense beats of Kakashi's heart. Then her face went completely slack, tense shoulders slouching and eyes dropping dazedly.

The Jounin frowned, perplexed, and chaos broke out all across the town. Windows shattered for no apparent reason and wooden doors splintered in their frames. Lights flickered on everywhere and the air was thick with screams and shrieks, the sobs of horrified people.

Kakashi shivered as a whisper of almost unbearably cold wind brushed over him, and his gut clenched unpleasantly. He jerked away from the feeling, instinctively moving towards deeper shadows, and haphazardly shoved his hitai-ate out of the way with one hand while his other went for his kunai pouch.

What he saw shook him, all the more so because he wasn't sure _what_, exactly, he _was_ seeing. The air was full of gliding _things_. Things that, while they didn't appear to be using—or even _have_—chakra, were completely invisible to the naked eye. With his Sharingan, he could only vaguely make out the human-sized shapes. There were dozens—possibly as many as a hundred. They crashed through doors and windows with careless abandon, and chased down civilians that fled to the streets in the confusion.

Taking the scene in quickly, Kakashi zoned in on the nearest threat to himself. One vague figure was not even two meters in front of him and closing swiftly. Instantly, the Jounin let loose a kunai at the thing, hitting it square in the chest.

It shrank back for a split-second, then surged forward with a new speed. Kakashi was already tensed to run, but he found his legs rooted to the spot as, quite suddenly and without provocation, long-buried memories sprang to the surface of his mind.

Kakashi had long before learned how to peruse his memories from a removed vantage point, distanced from the emotions of the moment. He hadn't punched through any walls while remembering how he'd failed—Obito, sensei, Rin, his father—in _years_. But all of a sudden the emotions overwhelmed him, attacking him like a physical enemy—one he had no defense against.

Anger and hatred poured through his veins, fear stabbed, freezing cold, through his heart, and sorrow filled his lungs like water. On top of everything else, self-loathing thrummed in every particle of his being and Kakashi felt certain he'd be swamped in misery until his death.

His breath came in long, shuddering heaves and he hardly noticed the vague form hovering ever closer in front of him, overlaid with the image of the woman he'd vowed to protect, broken and bleeding—the man who had shattered his innocence with three clean cuts—the boy he'd learned to trust too late to save—and the teacher he'd loved more than any other person. With everything else in front of him, he certainly didn't care about the insubstantial figure hovering in the dark alley.

His trembling fingers, numb with cold, moved on their own accord, slipping a kunai from his pouch. Something inside of him cracked—it would be better to die than live like this.

The image vanished in a wash of silver light, although the intense emotions continued to cling to him. It took several seconds for the Jounin to register the blade scratching his gut, held in his own shaking hand.

With effort, the teen pulled it away, and took a deep, shaking breath. In control of himself once more, Kakashi quickly scanned his surroundings for any more of those monsters.

Instead, he spotted a man running up to him. The strange character wore a violet, silky looking button up shirt with matching pants, the top of his head bald and the hair on the sides in disarray. It looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed, and for half a second Kakashi felt like laughing at the ridiculous image the man made in the dark alley, a testament to his frayed emotions, then he noticed the stick clutched in a tight, white-knuckled grip by the man's right hand.

"Are you alright?" The man shouted as he drew near.

Kakashi took a moment to reply—his rattled brain having to work harder than usual to translate the foreign language.

"Ye… yes," he answered haltingly, thinking furiously to put his words into the same language, "What was that?"

"Dementor," the man replied grimly, his eyes darting around nervously, "I never _imagined_ they'd show up _here_, of all places! There aren't even that many of us wizards around here." He looked at the teen and frowned, "What are you waiting for? There are more dementors out here and we'll need as much help as we can get. If it's a matter of being underage, you can rest assured that in this sort of situation the rules are lifted."

"… What?" Kakashi asked, trying to make sense of the rush of words he'd been successfully overwhelmed with.

"Your _wand_, boy! Are you daft? The spell's easy enough—I can teach you. It'll just take a bit of getting used to, that's all, and then—"

"I'm not a wizard," Kakashi interrupted when it became clear to him what the strange man was going on about.

"Eh?" The wizard stared at him in surprise. The shock was quickly followed up by a deep furrowing of the eyebrows. "You're not?" The fellow sounded extremely confused, glancing around at Kakashi and the dark, starless sky, "Hey… but how'd you notice the dementors if you aren't? Muggles can't see them."

Kakashi considered how to answer that for a moment—he wasn't entirely sure what a muggle was, but based on the context he could guess well enough. Eventually he settled on the truth. It seemed normal attacks didn't work on the… dementors, and Kakashi could use the help of someone who was able to fight them. And there wasn't time for him to devise a plausible lie that would meet his ends.

"My brother's a wizard," he supplied, projecting more confidence into words he never thought he'd say to make it seem as though they explained everything.

"Ah…" The man still looked a little confused, but he appeared to be swayed by Kakashi's defense as he slowly nodded, "Alright… Then, stick close to me and we'll see if we can find anyone else we can help out."

Kakashi frowned as he followed the man down another side street, the weakness from the strange attack draining from his muscles as he moved them. "We should leave."

"Maybe… but where would that leave all those other blokes? Going down the main street would be suicide—that's teeming with dementors—but we ought to help what we can." The man aimed his wand at a pair of dementors descending from a rooftop on the left. This time Kakashi noticed that the silvery light that exploded from his wand had a shape—it looked like a brilliantly shining eagle soaring up to the attack.

"Ha!" The strangely dressed wizard crowed as the dementors scattered in the face of his spell.

"Behind you," Kakashi snapped, throwing a handful of kunai in hopes that the threatening creature would at least be delayed.

The man spun around, eyes wide, and his eagle dove at the dementor, chasing the thing away. When it was gone the man turned back to him, eyes suspicious, and a crooked frown under his thick, graying mustache.

"I thought you said you were a muggle? How can you see where they're coming from, then?"

All he could see was a vague shape with the Sharingan, and nothing at all without it, but Kakashi doubted he'd be able to supply a satisfactory explanation in the foreign language, and even if he could, he didn't have time to try. "It doesn't matter," he snapped instead, glaring fiercely at the man with mismatched eyes, "We need to leave."

Grumbling a bit, the man nodded and continued down the side-street, "There's so many of the blasted things out here, I'm beginning to agree with you. We'll follow the side streets out of town, but if we run into anyone, we'll give them a hand—agreed?"

Kakashi said nothing because it didn't really matter if he agreed or not. The wizard would do what he wanted, and the Jounin knew that if he wanted the protection that wand provided, he'd have to stay near the strange man's side, as much as he hated depending on the foreigner for help.

* * *

The Sandaime looked grimly over the men before him, thinking and rethinking his strategy. He was very likely sending them both to their deaths—a fate even the shinobi wouldn't be able to fight against.

But if he did nothing he would be as good as admitting that they were powerless to respond to attacks from the wizarding community. And a hidden village couldn't afford to admit weakness to _anyone_; such an eventuality would be the beginning of the end for Konoha. Silently, he cursed his predecessors for opening relations with the wizards in the first place.

"You two must understand the risks you face in challenging our borders…" Sarutobi started slowly, gazing between the two faces in front of him.

On the left stood a dark-haired Uchiha, his expression severe as he gave a sharp nod. The man beside him nodded, as well, the deep, vivid scar across his right jaw quivering as the man's teeth ground against themselves.

"I've asked you to do this, but there will be no shame if either of you choose to remain behind," the Sandaime reminded the pair, although he knew full-well that neither would take him up on the offer.

"Hatake's eye must not be allowed to fall into the hands of enemies," the black-haired man responded coolly.

The Uchiha felt duty-bound to retrieve not Hatake Kakashi, but the eye he bore. Sarutobi understood the reasoning of the clan—if anyone were to steal Kakashi's Sharingan, vital secrets of the Uchiha clan would fall into the hands of potential enemies. All of Konoha would suffer if that was to happen, and so the Hokage had allowed a representative to join the search, however he preferred retrieval teams to be at least as interested in the well-being of the shinobi they were sent to rescue as they were in any other aspect of the mission.

Which is where Matsuro, once a partner of Kakashi's in the ANBU forces, came in. Sarutobi was perfectly aware that the young man felt he owed the other shinobi his life—if Kakashi hadn't been watching his back, the wound that had scarred the Jounin would have killed him. He was counting on Matsuro to curb the Uchiha's cold efficiency.

"We'll bring him back, Hokage-sama," Matsuro said determinedly, "I swear my life on it."

The Sandaime hoped it wouldn't come down to that. Konoha's forces were stretched as it was—they still weren't fully recovered from the war, and with unrest not only on the border, but also within their own boundaries, he couldn't spare even the lives of these two men. If there were any other choice, Sarutobi would have taken it.

The old man nodded grimly. "Good. You will leave immediately." He gingerly lifted a thick envelope from his desk and offered it to the Uchiha, "I don't think I need to tell you two how important it is for this information to remain secret, but I'll say it anyway. If this ever seems likely to pass from your hands, destroy it. You are forbidden from saying a word about your destination or anything pertaining to this mission to anyone. Understood?"

"Yes, Hokage-sama," the two shinobi chorused briskly.

"… Then you are dismissed," the Sandaime said.

With salutes the two men left the room—Sarutobi watched them the entire way, praying to whatever gods were left in Konoha that this was not the last time he would see them.

* * *

It took nearly an hour to reach the edge of the small town. Both Kakashi and Horatio, as the wizard had introduced himself, were exhausted—Kakashi from his constant use of the Sharingan, and the wizard from the vast number of dementors he'd been forced to fight off. Kakashi imagined it would be more efficient to simply kill the monsters and be done with it, but when he'd mentioned as much to the wizard, the man had given him the impression that such a thing was impossible.

Kakashi's toes were numb from the cold, and Horatio had developed a nasty sniffle. It was still cold, but it had been getting warmer since they left the center of town. The Jounin was finding his companion's olfactory difficulties even more annoying than the occasional screams still echoing around the town as the dementors claimed each new victim.

"We've… got to inform the… the Ministry about this…" Horatio panted as they paused to catch their breath—Kakashi continued to keep a lookout for more dementors, although they hadn't seen any for the last five minutes. "If there was something… or someone… they wanted here…" the man pulled out a handkerchief and gave a mighty blow, sniffling before continuing, "The Ministry'll know."

Kakashi had only spent a short amount of time at the Ministry of Magic, but it was as much time as he needed to decide the entire governmental system was a disorganized mess struggling to stay afloat with a half-witted leader. The Minister would have been assassinated ages ago, the Jounin mused, if he'd been in charge of any one of the shinobi nations.

The teen kept his opinions to himself, however, and gave the older man a few more minutes to rest up. The only noise in the deep silence outside town was the wizard's heavy breathing.

At last, he shifted, "We should move."

Heaving a resigned sigh, Horatio straightened with a nod, "Yes… yes, you're right. The sooner we get away from this place the better."

Kakashi froze, staring at the puff of breath that had escaped the man with his final words. Instantly, he reached into his kunai pouch, spinning around with his Sharingan surveying the sky.

"There!" He snapped at his companion, holding his kunai in front of him, for all the help that it would be.

"More?!" Horatio asked in exasperation, looking around wildly, "Where?"

"Up," Kakashi said—watching as the large group began coalescing into individual shapes as they neared. He shivered in anticipation. There were a lot, far more than they had faced at any one time before.

"I can't see them," the wizard said in frustration, searching for the dark shapes against the black sky.

"Just… spell them!" Kakashi snapped in irritation—if they waited much longer, the dementors would probably be able to overwhelm them by sheer numbers. One silver eagle couldn't possibly go after them all at once, especially since Horatio's light seemed to have been getting dimmer after the multiple attacks they'd suffered.

"I can't if I don't know where they are!" Horatio roared back angrily, tired and frustrated from the long and harrowing night.

Kakashi's mind raced—there had to be _something _he could do! It was obvious that while his Sharingan could easily see whatever energy the dementors possessed, Horatio's eyes were not; and an attack would be useless if he was unable to hit his targets.

Taking a deep breath, Kakashi slid his kunai into a more workable grip and began forming hand seals. It would be difficult—if not impossible—for him to explain Ninjutsu to the wizard, but he could deal with the repercussions later if he needed to. Survival was more important at the moment.

"**Katon: Kaamakaze no Jutsu!**" Streaks of white hot fire shot up at the oncoming cloud of dementors; Kakashi breathed heavily as the chakra drained from him, and he clutched his kunai more tightly.

Up in the sky, the flames caught on something—Horatio gasped in surprise and Kakashi stared. They might have been impervious to physical attacks, but even without the Sharingan, he could see the shapes of the dementors as they went up in flames. Loud, piercing shrieks worse than any he'd heard before split the air—Kakashi winced and Horatio covered one ear, aiming his wand up at the burning mass soaring in towards them with his other hand.

"What did you do?" He shouted at Kakashi, taking a shaking step away from the dementors still stubbornly flying down at them.

Kakashi bit back a frustrated groan and thrust a hand towards the creatures, "It doesn't matter now! Spell them!"

Horatio hesitated a moment longer before doing just that, and with a flick of his wand, the silver eagle was back, adding its own unearthly scream to the noise.

Despite the wizard's best efforts, the sheer number of dementors proved to be too much for his spell alone. Even as a number of them fled, chased off by the weakening visage of a bird, and others disappeared, screaming into the night with robes aflame, still more continued towards them, and the coldness inched into the consciousnesses of the two men.

"Do that fire spell again," Horatio demanded as he shot off another weak _Patronus _at the incoming dementors.

Kakashi shook his head—pressing a hand to his Sharingan eye. His head was throbbing from chakra drain, and his vision was beginning to turn blurry, only he couldn't bring himself to lower his hitai-ate because without it he couldn't even see his enemies. "I can't."

"Well, why the bloody hell not?!" The man demanded irritably, "You did it once, didn't you?"

"… I can't," Kakashi repeated helplessly—he'd been striving to increase his vocabulary all along his travels, but after he'd left Britain, fewer people spoke English, and more infrequently. Plus, the language was very different than he was used to, and it was hard to work out strange sentence structures, so the teen couldn't have elaborated even if he wanted to.

Kakashi had a new respect for the difficulties his brother had worked through when he'd first come to Konoha all those years back.

On top of the thought of his brother, came memories of his teacher, who had been a large part of both of their lives back then, and almost immediately his memory of the man's death overwhelmed every other thought. And then there was Obito—Rin—his father.

Kakashi's Sharingan eye went wide and he propelled himself backwards abruptly, his kunai flying even before his eye landed on the dementor looming far too close for comfort.

Breathing heavily, the Jounin swiftly increased the distance between himself and the creature, considering how much chakra he had left—probably enough for a D or C ranked Fire technique… enough to get rid of the one dementor, maybe. Glancing around, he located Horatio, still struggling against the bulk of their ghastly attackers—and, apparently, losing, if his sweat-soaked face and shaking hand were any indicators.

"We need to run!" He shouted across at the other man.

Horatio continued to back away from the encroaching group of dementors gliding near him. Kakashi caught a shaky nod, "Y-yes, we should… we should run…"

Kakashi frowned—any moment the man would be overwhelmed, he was sure of it. The dementors would finish him like they had the people of the village. The teen's eyebrows drew together, he owed the man for helping him escape that town… but if he tried to approach, it was likely they'd both end up dead.

Face grim, Kakashi turned. This fight wouldn't belong to him, but if he ever saw those creatures again, he would know how to fight them. For now, there were more important things to do than stick around and die fighting an impossible battle.

The shinobi pretended not to hear the scream that cut through the silence behind him.

* * *

The Headmaster followed Kakashi through the halls of his own school, his expression stern and slightly worried. The Jounin only paused at the statue guarding the entrance to the man's office, quickly supplying the password and leading the way inside. If Dumbledore was perturbed by the shinobi's presumptuous behavior, he did not comment on it.

"First," Kakashi started, throwing open the doors to the Headmaster's office and moving to stand in front of the desk as the old man made his way around to the seat behind it, "Tell me why dementors attack Yekaterinburg. Then," the shinobi reached into a pocket and pulled out a small square of paper, snapping it on the desk in front of the wizard, "Tell me what this is."

Dumbledore's expression became even more grim as he looked down at the sketch, absorbing this information and feeling disturbed at the conclusions he drew from it. "Mr. Hatake… when was Yekaterinburg attacked?"

"Twelve days ago," Kakashi supplied quickly—it was a question he'd been expecting ever since he decided he couldn't abandon his brother for such a long time if _those_ were the type of creatures he'd be up against. Although he remained unwilling to admit defeat—he'd find a way home, and he'd get the aged wizard in front of him to help.

Dumbledore considered, for several minutes, what, exactly, he should tell the shinobi. Kakashi waited patiently, confident in his ability to get the information he wanted out of the man—in one way or another.

"… Both of your questions are linked, really," the Headmaster said at last, "To address one, I must address the other simultaneously. That image you saw… it is the mark of Voldemort—known as the Dark Mark—and it means several things, none of which are good for our side."

"First, it means that Voldemort has won control of the dementors, a powerful, dark creature as I'm sure you've discovered," Dumbledore continued, "And it also means he is growing in power and confidence, to have the nerve to attack and destroy an entire city."

"… The fact that this is the first I've heard of the incident…" the wizard said slowly, "Indicates that Voldemort either has spies within the Ministry who were able to cover up the news of the attack, or that even the Ministry has yet to discover such an attack occurred. Neither of which bode well, I'm afraid."

Kakashi scowled under his mask as he concentrated, wading through the strange and the familiar in the wizard's interpretation. "… Fudge is a poor leader," he said at last, "More dangerous than spies."

Dumbledore smiled thinly. "That may be," he agreed, "Incompetence is one thing the wizarding world cannot afford in a time like this. But what's more important is that we discover what it was that Voldemort was after in Yekaterinburg. I'm afraid I can't think of any reason for him to attack that town… there were a very small number of wizards living there, but there are wizards scattered all throughout the world."

"… A test," Kakashi offered.

"Perhaps," the Headmaster allowed, "However, Voldemort rarely does anything without reason. Every move he makes somehow works into his plans. It's possible that his intentions here were double-fold—perhaps he achieved some small goal and was also, as you suggested, able to test his control over the dementors…"

The wizard frowned, "This could be a very important clue. I will have to get in touch with my contacts at the Ministry and see if I can determine the identities of the wizards who were located in Yekaterinburg."

Kakashi met the Headmaster's eye in a intense, single-eyed gaze, and spoke his next words clearly, with a practiced efficiency and hardly any accent, "I will not agree to Harii fighting for you."

Dumbledore frowned. "Harry's already agreed to help us," he said.

"He lied," Kakashi replied blithely.

The old wizard was silent for a long moment. He sighed again, "Yes… I know."

"He won't help if I say no," Kakashi added.

"Yes… I know that, too," the Headmaster agreed wearily.

"I have a deal," Kakashi said.

Frowning, the wizard looked up at the teenager again, "I'm listening."

"Give me the tools I ask for, and we will help."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "All that so easily?"

The Jounin's eye curved in a smile, "Until we go home."

"I see…" The old man regarded the teen speculatively, "So, you expect me to give you the tools you need to help you get home faster, with the promise that you and your brother will assist us in our battle until you leave. What makes you think I wouldn't sabotage your work to keep you here?"

"I won't let you," Kakashi responded smoothly. He expected the wizard to enable him with tools to expedite his search, but he was hardly foolish enough to trust the man with anything that could ruin their plans.

"I assume you already have something in mind," Dumbledore said.

"Give me a Portkey to the east shore of Asia."

The wizard's eyebrows rose, "You've narrowed it down that much already?"

Kakashi didn't reply—the answer was evident in his request.

"…" The Headmaster remained thoughtfully silent for another few minutes before leaning back in his chair and looking up at the young man again, "Alright. I will provide you with a Portkey, as you asked, before the week is over. In return, there's a certain place I would like you to explore for me. Will you agree to this?"

The Jounin nodded, "Yes. Give me the Portkey and one week first."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "You'll have to wait until the Portkey is created, so why not take my mission first?"

"I gave you information," Kakashi pointed out.

The wizard's mouth twitched in a smile, "So now it's my turn to give you something you want, eh? Well, that seems fair enough, Mr. Hatake. Very well, you will have your Portkey, but I'll expect you to be back a week after to continue with my task."

Kakashi nodded once and turned towards the door.

"And, Mr. Hatake," Dumbledore called after him—the shinobi paused. The Headmaster smiled, "I'm impressed that you've learned English so quickly. I look forward to working with such an intelligent young man."

Kakashi continued out the door and Dumbledore sat back in his seat, going over the meeting he'd just had.

It would certainly be interesting, in the coming months, to see who could use whom more efficiently, and thus achieve their goals first. It would be an invigorating contest in more peaceful times, Dumbledore thought, but he was determined to win. The entire wizarding community—the entire _world_, perhaps—depended on it.


	10. School Days

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: Nothing witty this week, so I'll be blunt. I don't own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_.

Very, very sorry for the long wait! As I've explained already, I was bogged down with final projects and then studying for exams for the last several weeks, so I haven't been able to touch this chapter for quite a while. A reminder, I do post updates on when I'll be adding the next chapter in my profile, so none of you were without warning about the delay. If I ever miss a etu (estimated tim of update), check there for news.

Anyway, with college officially over for a month, I hope to get back (and ahead) of track. Hopefully you're still with me. I haven't answered reviews for the last chapter... that's for the same reason as the delay, and I'm sorry for that, too. I read all of them and appreciate them very much. I'll do better this chapter, promise!

I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 10 – School Days

Harry spent the first two hours of dorm life sealed inside the curtains of his new four poster bed up in Gryffinder tower. Dumbledore had insisted he live with the rest of his classmates despite his desire to stay in the room across from Kakashi. He now wished he'd fought harder against the move.

Finally, the last of his roommates slipped into a deep sleep and Harry silently stepped out of bed. The common room was dark, lit only by the flickering light of a dying fire, which cast deep, changing shadows everywhere. The Genin breathed softly, moving effortlessly from one shadow to the next, while keeping his attention on the few older students scattered about—most of them were engaged in becoming reacquainted with his or her significant other.

It was all the better that they were so engrossed with each other, because it meant no one even noticed when the portrait door swung open and Harry climbed out.

The hallways were dark, but far from abandoned, as Harry had hoped. The Genin stood flat against the wall as a group of boys wandered past him somewhere on the fourth floor, one of the boys' wand pointing out the way; he was forced to take a detour when he ran across a girl maybe a year or two older than him crying as she attempted to remember the spell to point her; and he quickly ducked into an empty classroom when he found a stern-faced teacher he vaguely recognized from the feast prowling around the stairs between the second and third floors.

Kakashi's room was empty, so Harry made himself comfortable to wait. He dozed off soon after and only woke to his brother's goading voice.

"You're back," Harry said, yawning.

"Obviously," the older teen retorted dryly, "Breakfast will be served soon. We should get going. You can tell me why you felt the need to sleep in my bed instead of your own."

Harry flushed, realizing that he'd spent the entire night there. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Kakashi shrugged. "You looked tired. Besides, I was too tired to deal with your whining if you'd had a nightmare."

Harry's face flushed redder, "Niisan! I haven't done that for years!" His indignant argument fell short when he noticed a slight shaking in the older boy's shoulders. He was _laughing_. Harry scowled and got up, running his hands through his hair in a futile attempt to smooth it, "What's got _you_ so happy, then?"

Kakashi opened the door, "I may have just found a solution to our problem."

Harry gaped, "You found the way back?!"

"Not precisely," the Jounin said lightly, "But if all goes well, I'll have found it very soon. Until then, we'll do what we can to help these people's situation. Not that it's any of our business, but they're facing some pretty nasty things out there—you should study 'Dementors' right away."

Harry tailed closely behind his brother, feeling better than he had in months. "Why don't we just go now? We don't need to bother with the wizards—they can take care of themselves."

"But the other side doesn't seem to care if civilians get in their way. A lot of innocent people will die if we ignore the situation."

Hearing it from his brother's mouth made Harry feel a little guilty—had he really become such a heartless person?

"And I promised assistance to Dumbledore for providing equipment that should cut travel time down by more than a half," Kakashi added—Harry's guilt vanished.

"I see—so it has nothing to do with what's right, just a matter of payment for services," Harry said dryly.

"Of course, he really doesn't deserve any payment, since he's the one who stranded us here in the first place," Kakashi said.

The Great Hall was empty when they arrived. Even the tables were bare, save for a few baskets of steaming rolls. Pale light filtered through the windows on the east side of the room, and the sky reflected on the ceiling was a dull, light shade.

"Seems like no one's here yet," Harry commented as he helped himself to a large, sweet roll.

"Hm," Kakashi agreed absently. "What time do your classes start? We should get some training in, and you can tell me what you learned while I was gone."

"You should tell me what you've been doing first," Harry argued, "What are dementors?"

* * *

It was already dark by the time Harry dragged himself back up to the Gryffindor common room. His head ached from the advanced concepts that had sprung into his third year courses, and any chance he could have had to recoup during his free periods had been stripped away from him as the teachers crammed additional lessons in.

He had a mountain of homework he hadn't even begun to think about and he was sure to get even more tomorrow. As if the classes hadn't been enough, he'd been pestered with questions during lunch and dinner and every other free minute his classmates could find.

The common room was quiet already, with students focusing on their first assignments of the year or chatting in small groups, tired from the first day of real work since the last school year ended. Harry's glare was enough to keep a small group of second year girls at bay, and he found an empty table to dump his books on.

He didn't start his homework, though. Instead he pulled the top book off his stack. The only one not related to his classes. It was a thick tome bound in black leather with peeling silver lettering dubbing it: _"The Encyclopedia of Dangerous Beasts."_

"De," Harry muttered, flipping through the pages. "That's… D. A… B… C… here!"

It was a long, difficult word to spell out, but at last Harry opened to a page with the heading _"Dementor."_ He leaned back in his chair, frowning in concentration, and began to read.

* * *

"Need any help, Harry?"

The Genin automatically turned a glare on the student that had interrupted his reading. He added a scowl when he saw who it was.

"Go away, Granger."

The girl ignored him, leaning over his shoulder. "What are you reading? Oh, dementors? What's that for?"

Harry shot her an irritated look. "Nothing. Go away."

The girl's eyes scanned over the collection of textbooks and scrolls on the table before him. "Those are first and second year books!" She said in surprise, "What do you have them for?"

Harry snapped his book shut and grabbed the nearest text—it was probably about time to get started on his homework, anyway. He glared at the girl out of the corner of his eye all the while. "Remedial work. Don't you have other things to do?" He pointedly buried his nose between the pages of his book.

"I've finished Professor Flitwick's assignment already. Didn't give us much homework for the first day of the term, did they? But what do you mean remedial work? Is that where you got to after dinner? You weren't at breakfast either; everyone was talking."

The boy stopped pretending to read and looked up with a growl of exasperation. "Listen, I have more important things to do than answer your mindless prattle. So, unless you've got something useful to say, please _leave_."

Hermione just stood there a moment, mouth gaping slightly and eyes wide. Harry thought she might cry, as civilian girls were prone to do, but she surprised him. Her mouth shut with a snap and she grabbed a chair from around the table, pulling it close to his, then she settled down right beside him as if he'd given her an invitation.

"Alright, then, I'll help. What are you working on now?"

Harry stared at her in disbelief. He blinked—twice—but she was still there, looking back at him expectantly.

"… Transfiguration," he said at length, when nothing particularly witty came to the forefront of his mind.

* * *

Harry dropped his things next to an empty table. If he'd had his choice, he'd sit in the back during potions—the further from Snape he could get, the better. But the other tables were filled already and he didn't know any of his classmates. So he sat alone at the front of the room.

"So here's the newest Gryffindork," a condescending voice made him turn. A group of students wearing the silver and green patch of Slytherin stood behind him, three boys and one girl. It was the blond who spoke. "Is it true you're Harry Potter?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. He'd done nothing but refute the claim, but it had spread through the entire student body with a speed to put the Konoha Rumor Mill to shame. "My name's Hatake."

The blond smirked cruelly, his blue eyes cold, "It's just as well if you aren't. The wizarding world would be _doomed_ if their precious Boy-Who-Lived turned out to be such an imbecile in a subject as simple as charms. I'll bet you're just as hopeless in Potions."

Harry fought a grimace. He'd made a fool of himself the day before when Flitwick had them review the more difficult of their second year charms. He'd been so frustrated by the end of class—after being the only one not able to perform any of the spells correctly—that his attempt at a whistling charm had broken all the windows in the room and shattered the chandelier. Several students had been sent to the hospital ward, complaining of a ringing in their ears that wouldn't go away.

The Genin's lack of response didn't seem to phase the other boy or his tittering friends.

"Dumbledore must really be losing his touch to let someone like _you_ into Hogwarts. _You're_ practically a _squib_, and probably a _mudblood_ to boot."

Harry's jaw tightened but he didn't respond. He didn't know what the insults meant, but he recognized the taunting voice for what it was. The entire class was watching and he knew better than to draw attention to himself. Besides, he was a _shinobi_. He wouldn't lower himself to fighting with a bratty _civilian_ boy with scrawny arms who probably couldn't block a punch to save his life.

This time Harry's silence seemed to annoy the other boy. His smirk transformed into a scowl and he stepped forward, slamming a hand down on Harry's table and leaning in so they were nearly face to face.

"What's the matter, Hatake? Can't defend yourself because you know that it's true?"

Harry's eyes narrowed minutely. Whoever the blond was, Harry had never had to deal with someone so infuriating before… at least, not when he wasn't allowed to kick their ass.

"… I don't speak English," Harry said blankly, inserting as much of an accent as he could into the words.

It was a blatant lie and several of the Gryffindors at the tables behind him burst into raucous laughter. Harry didn't wait for a response, instead turning away from the blond and opening his book—filled with tidy English letters forming English words that he could clearly read.

That was the moment the classroom door swung open.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for making such a racket," Snape snapped without a moment of preamble. The laughter died just as quickly as it had begun. "Everyone take your seats and let's begin…"

* * *

"Taking a little late night stroll, are we?" With only the faintest fluttering of his cloak, a figure dropped to the ground right in front of Severus Snape.

The wizard's hand went to his wand immediately. "Out of my way, Hatake."

"What are you doing?"

"None of your business."

"You're Harii's teacher, so it is."

Snape's face flushed and his wand moved in a quick arc, a hex on the tip of his tongue. He never completed the movement, freezing when he felt the sting of a knife drawing blood from his throat.

"You're quick, but I'm quicker," Kakashi's voice growled behind his ear, "Drop the wand."

Snape stared—Hatake Kakashi still stood in front of him, so how was he doing this? The first Kakashi stalked toward him, a dangerous glint in his dark, single eye. The knife at his neck scraped cruelly, and the wizard reluctantly let the cool shaft of his wand slip from his long fingers.

"I may not be a wizard, Snape-san," the walking figure said coolly, "But you can call it 'magic' if you like."

"Let go of me, Hatake," Snape growled menacingly, pushing irrational fear under layers of defenses.

"Tell me what you're doing out here and I'll consider it."

The older man glowered. "When the Headmaster hears of your interference—" he cut himself off, muscles tensing briefly and the fingers of his left hand forming a fist.

Kakashi's eyes were sharp. "What was that?"

"Your concern is touching, Hatake. It was nothing."

The Kakashi in front of him allowed his dark eye to travel down from the man's face over his body. "Something with your arm?"

Kakashi felt the professor stiffen again. The wizard curled his upper lip in an ugly snarl, "A chronic pain, if you must know. Probably due to the stress of teaching such idiotic children all day long."

"Very slow, push back your sleeve," the Kakashi over his shoulder demanded.

Snape glared at the young man in front of him, his dark eyes burning with hatred and more color than usual in his pallid cheeks. The knife sliced into his neck a little deeper, and slick blood slid down his skin. Snape hissed in pain.

"We can do this the hard way, if that's what you want." The Kakashi in front of him reached for his headband.

Snape felt dread coil inside of him at the movement. He wasn't sure what the young man's headband hid, but at the moment he felt certain it was nothing good. Scowling, the man jerkily reached for his sleeve. He slowly pushed it up, eyes hot with resentment.

The lines of his mark were thick and black, like a tattoo filling his forearm. Kakashi frowned at it. Snape said nothing, although he could guess at the questions in the younger man's head.

Suddenly it came to life again, a spike of fiery pain up his arm. Snape ground his teeth together—by now he should be at the meeting already. Voldemort was obviously growing annoyed.

"That's interesting," the Kakashi at his shoulder said, "It's causing you pain."

"That's not a normal tattoo," the Kakashi in front of him added, "What is it?"

Snape glared at him nastily and didn't answer, thin lips pressed tightly together. A long silence stretched through the forest. For the first time, Snape noticed the absence of the normal nightly sounds—no hooting of owls or chirping of nocturnal insects could be heard. Absolute silence hung heavily over them.

"I remember," the Kakashi over his shoulder mused softly, "That mark was in a book. It was in the sky in the picture."

The other Kakashi seemed to remember at the same instant, "Voldemort."

Snape swallowed a curse. It wouldn't be difficult to find the correlation between Voldemort and his mark if someone was looking for it, but he hadn't expected Kakashi to know what it was already. Clearly the young man had already done his homework, unlike his dunderheaded students who always put things off to the last minute.

"Dumbledore said you were a spy."

"That's right," Snape ground out, "And the dark lord is summoning me for a meeting. _That_ is what the mark is for."

Cruel amusement sounded in the young man's voice when he next spoke, "He summons his followers through pain?" One dry laugh hit his ear harshly, "Effective, I suppose."

"If I ever find evidence that your true loyalty is stacked against my brother…" the Kakashi in front of him raised his headband and for the first time Snape was gifted with the sight of what it hid.

A dark red orb sat in the young man's left socket, strange black markings splayed inside it. The eye seemed to spin inside its hole, the markings forming a sort of pinwheel from the movement and for a split second Snape was dying.

He saw the shinobi—he _felt_ the sword impaling his stomach. He felt the heat of his blood pouring out around the blade, the excruciating pain of the sword twisting and digging deeper—breaking bones and severing muscle.

He didn't even have time to scream before the image—illusion?—was gone. The wizard gasped, his eyes flickering down, but there was no sign of the fatal injury he had been dealt a moment before.

"I'll kill you," the Kakashi behind him finished, a low whisper in his ear.

Snape's eyes snapped up, but the forest in front of him was empty, and a second later he was released from behind. In one movement he dropped to the ground, retrieving his fallen wand and spinning to face his enemy in a crouch. But Kakashi was gone.

The wizard's heart thudded loudly against his ribcage and his hand went first to his stomach—just to confirm once more that the life-threatening injury really was gone—and then to his neck, where his blood was still sluggishly leaking from a slit in his skin. It didn't feel nearly as wide or as deep as he'd feared.

The mark on his arm burned one more time and Snape stood, expression grim. Dumbledore had gotten himself involved with some very bad characters this time, and the old fool didn't even realize it. He would have to watch his back more carefully than ever.

* * *

"You're leaving today?" Harry blurted, almost fumbling his guard. His brother took advantage of his distraction, moving in for a quick vertical strike, but Harry managed to get his kunai up just in time and twisted out of the way.

"You should keep training while I'm gone."

Harry rushed the Jounin, jaw set with determination, but Kakashi easily swatted his attack to the side and hit him on the back.

Harry groaned when he hit the ground, but forced himself to move, rolling out of the way of any subsequent attacks. He lurched back to his feet, settling into a closed stance, ready to react to his brother's every movement.

"Of course I will," he muttered, "Only it's harder with just one person."

"I'll test you when you get back, so you better improve."

Kakashi appeared suddenly behind his brother and landed a solid backfist across the back of his head. The boy's body disappeared in a puff of smoke, replaced with a small length of log and before the Jounin could even begin looking for him, Harry launched a deluge of weapons at him.

The older teen slid backwards, fending off the shuriken as he went, and then spun around with a punch that knocked the younger boy—who had reappeared behind him—off his feet again. Kakashi's breathing was a little heavier than usual when he straightened and his visible eye curved into a smile.

"Not bad, otouto."

"I'll think of more combinations while you're gone," Harry warned, grinning despite his fresh bruises, "You won't stand a chance, niisan."

"I look forward to it."

* * *

The small, silver button rolled to the edge of the desk and landed with a soft _clap_. Harry stared at it for a moment before reluctantly reaching to pick it up. He rolled it between his fingers, feeling the smooth surface and the tiny pinholes poked all the way through.

"Very good, Mr. Hatake."

Looking up, a small smile crossed Harry's lips. It was the best he'd done in transfiguration yet—much better than the dull needles he'd transfigured over the summer, or the snuffbox with fur that he'd managed the week before last.

McGonagall took the button from him and examined it. She smiled thinly at him, "I have to say, Mr. Hatake, if you were in my second year class, you'd get full marks for a button like this. You've obviously been working very hard."

Unspoken, Harry thought, was the sentiment that he might manage to catch up with his classmates before the year was over, after all. It was the most rudimentary of second year spells, but it was definite progress.

Hermione's help seemed to be paying off, after all. Ever since that night a week ago, the girl had devoted her evenings to helping him study, whether he liked it or not—and more often, he didn't. But her patient explanations and clever observations were helping him get the hang of things much more quickly. He'd even managed to come up with an almost respectable potion in class on Friday. Snape, of course, hadn't given him any points since the color was still a little off, but Harry thought he might be able to finish the next one.

With a tap from the professor's wand, the button was transformed back into a small, black beetle and she quickly dumped it back into its container before it could scurry off of her palm.

Harry wondered what it felt like to suddenly be turned into a button, but supposed it didn't matter since he couldn't imagine what it felt like to be a beetle in the first place.

"Let's take care not to grow arrogant over a single accomplishment, Mr. Hatake, and move on with more challenging coursework. We have another half hour together, so we'll make good use of it. Turn forward in your text to the section on texture…"

Smothering a sigh, Harry flipped forward. Maybe he'd never catch up after all—there was always more for him to improve on.

* * *

"Did you really transfer from another school, Harry?" Hermione blurted one evening as she was reading over a report Harry had sloppily scribbled out for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"No," Harry answered blithely, scratching his head as he re-read a section of his potion's text. It didn't make any more sense the second time through, so he shrugged and moved on.

"What?" Hermione asked in surprise, staring at him with disbelief.

It took a second for Harry to realize why. "Oh. I mean… I went to school, of course," he extrapolated, "But I graduated a few years ago."

Hermione did not look reassured at all. "Graduated?" She repeated incredulously, "How could you be graduated already? Even muggle schools go through twelfth grade!"

"Not _all_ schools," Harry countered, "In Konoha, most graduates are eleven or twelve years old."

The girl frowned skeptically, one eyebrow raised, "Eleven and twelve year old graduates."

"That's not the end of it, of course. We have to complete our apprenticeship afterwards."

Hermione stared at him, clearly trying to work out whether he was lying or not. Harry watched with a small smile—confusing the class's smartest girl was the most fun he'd had in months, and he was beginning to enjoy it.

"No you… do you really? What… what do you _do_?"

"A lot of different stuff," Harry shrugged, "Basically, whatever we're hired to do. I've been doing menial labor mostly, but we've been hired out as guards occasionally, too."

"Guards?" Hermione echoed, "Guards for what?"

"Don't think about it too hard," Harry advised, grinning.

The girl stared hard at him for several long seconds. She scowled, "That's not funny, Harry—you're making fun of me! None of that's even true, is it?"

Harry shrugged, "Who knows?"

The girl sniffed, "Well, I don't believe you. You went to a muggle school before coming here, didn't you? That's why you have to do so much remedial work. There's no other explanation."

"I could just be stupid," Harry offered.

Hermione shot him a glare, "If _that_ was true, you wouldn't be progressing so quickly." She frowned, staring at the wall thoughtfully, "Although it still doesn't explain why Professor Dumbledore let you join in third year." She glanced across at him suspiciously, "I was right, wasn't I? You are Harry Potter."

Harry scowled, "I told you before, I'm not."

"It's the only thing that makes sense!" The girl insisted, "You _must_ be! Come on, Harry, we're friends now, you can tell me!"

"I'm a Hatake," Harry said firmly, "That's all." He looked at the books in front of him and closed one before pushing his chair back to stand. "I'm going to bed."

The girl frowned, "Don't be mad, Harry… I just wanted to know…"

Harry rolled his eyes, "I'm not mad, I'm tired. Are you done with that?"

The girl shook her head, looking down at the report again, "It's hopeless, anyway. I don't know how you're even passing Defense Against the Dark Arts…"

"I don't think Lupin-sensei reads our reports," Harry shrugged, taking the paper from her and stacking it with the others.

Hermione stared at him with disbelief as he balanced the pile and walked away.

It was earlier than Harry usually left the common room, and he was momentarily surprised to see the other boys still awake and moving about their shared dorm room. The other boys seemed just as surprised to see him, as they froze, staring at each other—Ron Weasley with something smoking in one hand.

"… You might want to get rid of that before it explodes," Harry said dryly, shaking off his surprise first and heading to his bed.

Ron gave a surprised shout and threw the thing just as it went off. The other boys laughed, the tension effectively broken—all except Neville, who continued to stare warily at the Genin.

"It's not often we see you 'round," Dean Thomas commented.

"You're always gone in the morning and you never come back at night," Seamus added, "We were beginning to think the bed was just for show."

"You're always asleep when I come up," Harry excused casually, dropping his books onto his trunk, "And I get up early."

"Who cares about his sleeping habits?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes at his friends. He turned to Harry, "Is she a good kisser?"

Harry stared back blankly, "What?"

Seamus and Dean laughed—Neville squeaked.

Ron smirked, "Hermione."

"…" Harry frowned contemplatively for a long moment. "What's a kisser?"

Even Neville smiled as the boys broke into loud laughter.

"Are you… are you serious?" Dean asked at last, when he noticed Harry wasn't laughing.

Harry shifted on his feet, "I lived in a foreign country since I was young… so while I _speak_ English, I don't have a huge—um—vocabulary."

"You don't know what kissing is?" Ron asked incredulously, still snickering.

"You know," Dean added through laughs, "When a guy and a girl…"

The boys dissolved into laughter again. Harry sighed. "In a… relationship you mean?"

Seamus managed to nod and Harry rolled his eyes.

"I wouldn't know. Shinobi are discouraged from having relationships like that."

"Shi-shinobi?" Neville repeated tentatively.

"Good night," Harry said, climbing onto his bed and pulling the curtains closed around him.

The boys' laughter redoubled outside the curtains.

* * *

Harry snatched the paper out of the air before it could hit his head, and shot a glare across the room at Draco Malfoy.

The blond seemed to have it out for him—ever since the day they'd met and Harry had completely ignored his taunts. It was getting on the Genin's nerves, but he tried not to take it personally.

Malfoy was a bully, pure and simple, and Harry had noticed that the boy treated most of the boys in his class the same way. He seemed to particularly like tormenting Weasley, and Harry thought it had something to do with the way the red-head's face flushed brightly every time Malfoy said something and threw everything from insults to punches and hexes right back at the blond—usually with catastrophic results on Ron's side.

Harry had never been singled out for bullying in school, but he'd seen it happen once or twice and knew perfectly well that the bully tended to get his laughs from the reactions of the children he tormented.

"Mr. Hatake!" Snape snapped—the professor had been behaving more harshly than usual the last several days, and seemed to always have his eyes fixed on Harry, waiting for him to step out of line. "Detention tonight—for passing notes in class!" One long, spindly finger pointed accusingly at the scrap of paper Harry still held.

Malfoy and the boy sitting next to him—along with most of the Slytherins—snickered at his plight. Snape didn't so much as glance in their direction, his dark eyes boring into the young Hatake.

Harry glowered right back—he wasn't sure what detention was, but it didn't sound nice, considering who it had been assigned by and the reaction of his classmates. "I didn't—"

"Better make it two for talking back," Snape cut in viciously.

Harry's mouth opened for another angry retort, but Snape's calculating gaze dissuaded him and he shut it again. The man was obviously waiting to assign him another, and anything he said would only make it worse.

After several long seconds of silence, the professor reluctantly turned back to the rest of the class.

"Report to my office at seven o'clock sharp," he added tersely, almost as an afterthought. He glared over his shoulder, "And don't be late, Mr. Hatake."

Harry waited until he was quite sure the man's attention was focused on railing over Neville's potion at the back of the room.

"… What's a detention?" He whispered to Hermione, who had opted to join him at the front of the room today.

The girl sighed, "You're hopeless, Harry… I'll tell you later."


	11. Tom Riddle

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer - I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter.

I have to apologize again... I haven't replied to your reviews yet, and I'm not likely to get to it today because I'm quite ill. In fact, I should probably be in bed right now, but I wanted to get this up, so there you go. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 11 – Tom Riddle

Harry glanced at the clock. "Lupin-sensei, can I go now?"

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was the only one who didn't seem to mind being addressed in the foreign manner; the other teachers had all requested, most politely but some not so much, that he use the title of 'Professor,' as was the English custom.

Lupin glanced at him in surprise, then at the clock. "We only have ten minutes together left, Harry," he frowned, "You're close to getting the counter-curse, so it would be better to keep going now. We'll have to deal with a back slide next week if we stop here."

Harry nodded—he'd run into the problem every other time he'd stopped in the middle of something. He had to waste time remembering how he'd gotten that far in the first place before he could pick up where he left off. "But Professor Snape wants me in his office at seven o'clock."

Lupin looked at the clock again—it was already ten minutes to seven, and it would probably take every minute to get across the school in time. With a reluctant sigh, he nodded. "I see… it would be best not to cause trouble for Professor Snape. Go ahead, Harry, and try to practice that counter a few more times on your own."

Harry nodded absently and gathered his things before leaving.

He tried not to make too much trouble for the Potions Master, but his very presence seemed to cause the man endless distress in the first place. Harry imagined that if the man ever ran into a dementor, he'd relive the moment he'd found out Harry would be in his class. It was enough to bring a smile to the young teen's lips.

Smirking, Harry let himself into the temporary location of the potion's room.

"Don't you know how to knock, Mr. Hatake?" Snape's sneering tone rang out immediately.

Harry's good mood vanished just as quickly. "Why would I knock when the door's not locked and you're expecting me?"

"It's called common etiquette," Snape said venomously, "Although there's nothing common about you; is there, Mr. Hatake? So why should I expect you to have the same level of manners as even your most boorish classmates?"

Harry scowled, "Forgive me for growing up in another culture, _Professor_. Did you want something or did you just call me here to insult me?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Mr. Hatake," the potions master snapped, "This is not a regular class, but the same rules of respect apply. I have called you here to serve a detention as punishment for your misbehavior." His eyes narrowed at the teen and he slowly turned his attention across the room, "You will be scrubbing each one of those cauldrons until they shine, Mr. Hatake."

Harry's gaze followed the man's. "You asked me here to… _scrub cauldrons_?" He asked incredulously, scowl deepening.

Snape said nothing, his black eyes meeting Harry's again, cold and demanding.

"I have five hours of homework and reading to finish if I want to have even a hope of catching up in my classes," Harry said, "And you want me to _waste_ an entire _evening _cleaning up other people's messes?"

"So," Snape drawled dryly, "It is possible to teach you. The sooner you get to work the sooner you can leave, so I suggest you begin immediately."

"I'm not going to clean your cauldrons, Professor," Harry said blithely, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. "That's not my job."

The potions master descended on him like a hawk, black robes flapping behind him. Harry didn't so much as flinch when the man stopped, his face only inches above the teen's.

"It is your job because I gave it to you," the man hissed, "This is your punishment, if I let any student do as he pleases, the school would fall into chaos, and why should there be an exception for you? I assume they didn't allow children to run free in your old school; we don't allow such things at Hogwarts, either."

"… So that's what Granger meant," Harry muttered. He scowled back up at the professor, "Of course we have punishments. If a student doesn't behave in class, the professor sometimes gives him extra lessons after school, but they don't hold them back for pointless things like cleaning. If _that's_ what you want, I'm leaving." He turned for the door.

"Mr. Hatake!" Snape snapped warningly. Harry paused, but didn't turn back around. "If you step out of that door, you'll regret it."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked sarcastically. He reached for the handle and turned it, pushing the classroom door open, "Expel me?"

The Genin stepped pointedly through the doorway.

* * *

"You _walked out_ of detention?" Dean asked incredulously.

"With P-p-professor S-snape!" Neville added, face pale and mouth gaping open.

"How?" Seamus demanded, "Didn't he try to hex you or something when you turned your back?"

Harry rolled his eyes—he'd just gotten away from Hermione's lecture about respecting teachers, including Professor Snape—now he wasn't so sure if this wasn't worse.

"I have homework, you know," he said dryly, flicking his quill at the open book across his lap.

"What, so you skipped out on detention just to do _homework_?" Ron asked with disbelief, "Man, you've got to get your priorities straight, Hatake, or you'll turn into another Hermione! You've been here, what, almost three weeks now, and you never do anything fun!"

"…" Harry frowned contemplatively at his book. "I can have fun when this is over," he muttered, more to himself than his roommates.

"The homework?" Ron asked, "You're _never_ going to be done! They give you three _times_ as much as us 'cause you missed first and second year. As soon as you turn that junk in, they'll give you a new bunch—you know that!"

"You'll burn yourself out if you spend all your free time working," Dean added, "You need a break once in a while, right?"

"That's right!" Ron agreed, grinning at their odd, new roommate, "And we're going to give it to you. We'll teach you Quidditch. From now on, you'll play with us Saturday afternoons."

"… If I agree, will you let me get back to work now?" Harry asked reluctantly.

The response was unanimous.

"Of course," Dean Thomas assured him.

"Sure," Ron agreed, although his tone suggested he still found the concept highly unnerving.

"Saturday, then, right?" Seamus prodded eagerly.

Harry sighed. "Then fine, I'll go."

* * *

Since the first day he'd met him, Harry had disliked Professor Snape. The first day he'd spent under the professor's tutelage, Harry had found a deep hatred that surprised even him mirrored right back. He'd tried staying out of the man's way as much as possible—although he couldn't sit quiet indefinitely when the man targeted him during class—it was impossible.

By Friday evening, Harry knew there was no man he hated more. Even Voldemort couldn't possibly match Professor Snape in venomous hatred focused entirely on the young Genin. And Harry couldn't help but feel the same.

Despite his own reluctance, Harry dragged himself to the dungeon-esque room temporarily located in the northeast tower. Snape had proved to be ever-hopeful in his ambition to get the third year to sit through a detention, but Harry had refused to make so much as a showing since the first day.

Unfortunately, Friday evenings were set aside for his weekly remedial potion lessons.

"So, you can be on time for some things," Snape's condescending voice was quick to confirm Harry's fears.

The Genin held back a sigh; he'd been dreading this all day.

_He's just trying to get to me,_ Harry reminded himself, as he did every time the man threw nasty comments his way—it only ever worked for so long, but it was something, at least. _Don't give him the satisfaction of falling to his level._

"Let's just get this over with," Harry said, dumping his materials on his usual table, "We're moving on to second year potions, right?"

The potions master sneered, "I don't think you're ready for _that_, Mr. Hatake."

Harry looked up sharply, "What do you mean? Last week you assigned me material in the second year book to study!"

"I expect a certain level of responsibility from my second years students," Snape said, "And you haven't finished one potion in my class all week. It's clear you aren't ready to move on—it's a wonder you still have all your pieces intact."

"I haven't finished a potion because you keep… making them _disappear_ before I can get anywhere near the end!" Harry snapped back.

"Because it would be reckless for me to allow you to continue such sad excuses for potions work," Snape retorted, "The entire class would be put in danger from your careless projects."

"I've followed your directions every time," Harry countered, "If there was any problem then it was because you—"

"It is precisely _that_ lack of maturity that is holding you back, Mr. Hatake," Snape interrupted sharply, "I suggest you spend more time focusing on your studies and less time blaming other people for your short comings."

"Yes, I suppose it also shows a—_lack of maturity—_that I'm working so hard to master the skills I need to defeat _your_ enemy," Harry said, "Or maybe you don't really want him defeated. Maybe you're happy with leaving Voldemort in power—is that it, Professor Snape?"

"You've been spending too much time with that paranoid _half_ brother of yours," Snape snarled, "I _spy_ for Dumbledore and I, of course, suffer no love for the dark lord. It would do you well to remember we're all on the same side here, Hatake. I want Voldemort gone as much as anyone."

"Then maybe you should keep that in mind," Harry said coolly, opening his book, "When you're treating me like the boy who stole your favorite toy, instead of the man who's going to save your asses."

* * *

"Hatake!" Harry looked up from his Herbology book with a frown. "Ready to go?" Two of the four boys already held broomsticks, and all were earning curious glances and stares.

"What do you want?" Harry asked tiredly.

"Quidditch, remember?" Ron asked, lifting a shabby broomstick as though in explanation. "You did promise."

"Harry doesn't have time to join in your stupid game, Ronald," Hermione said before Harry could reply, "Unlike some students, he's actually serious about his schoolwork." She gave the white-haired boy a sidelong glare, "_Most_ of the time."

Harry ignored her—he wasn't sure the brunette had completely forgiven him for all of the detentions he'd skipped, but she'd finally let the subject drop and he wasn't about to bring it up again. He looked at his roommates dubiously, wondering what it would take to get out of his promise.

"What are the brooms for? You going to clean the field?"

Ron grinned, "They're not for cleaning, Hatake. We're going to fly on them."

Hermione scowled, "Then go fly already. We're busy."

"Hold on a minute, Granger," Harry dismissed, leaning forward and examining the broomsticks with more interest, "What do you mean _fly_, Weasley?"

"That's what makes Quidditch so great," Ron supplied with a grin, "There's no better sport, mate. You fly around the field on these babies, a hundred feet above the ground, hitting balls to try for a goal—and sometimes dodging other balls that dive at you from out of nowhere. All the while, the seeker tries to find a tiny, golden ball, but we'll tell you that part later."

"Harry," Hermione started, frowning at the other boy.

Harry hesitated, then glanced back at the girl, "… I did promise."

Ron grinned, "Come on, 'Mione, let the bloke have some fun! He's been studying nonstop since he came here!"

Hermione looked between Harry and the other third year boys. She sighed and began closing books.

"Fine. We'll go—be just a minute, we have to put our things away." With her books stacked in her arms, the girl hurried to the staircase, the four third years staring after her.

Harry gathered his own books and notes as soon as she'd left.

"… Who invited her?" Ron asked incredulously after gathering his wits.

"I think _she_ did," Dean said in amazement.

"She's been helping me study," Harry added, moving towards the stairs, "She could probably use a break, too."

* * *

The school grounds were crowded, even in the cool weather that had persisted all through the summer and was only getting worse. It felt wrong to Harry—he remembered hot, rainy summers, but supposed his memory might have been affected a bit by the hot, humid summers spent in Konoha.

Students were scattered everywhere, sitting in groups chatting or romping together across the grounds. Only now, as Harry surveyed the grounds from just outside the broom shed rather than a window from the Gryffindor common room, he noticed that not only were the fields crowded, but the sky was rather crowded, too. Groups of students were scattered here and there, swooping and diving through the sky on broomsticks.

"Hatake, here."

Harry instinctively gripped the broom shaft that was thrust in his direction by Dean Thomas, who carried a borrowed broom of his own. They rejoined the others—Ron and Seamus already had their own brooms, but Neville and Hermione carried none.

"Aren't you flying?" Harry asked the two teens lagging behind the group as they started off to find a relatively empty patch of sky to claim as their own.

"O-oh! I don't really like flying," Neville muttered, eyeing Harry anxiously.

"I'd rather watch," Hermione agreed.

"What they mean is they're _afraid_," Ron called back. He snorted, "I don't understand people like them. Flying is one of the best things in the world—even better than sweet potato pie."

Dean patted the red-head's shoulder, "Ron's trying out for the team this year."

"The Quidditch team," Harry guessed.

"Every house has them," Ron explained, "My brothers are the beaters on our team, but there's an opening for chaser, and I'm going to get it."

"Chaser?" Harry repeated.

"We'll explain later," Seamus said.

"Here looks good," Dean called out, halting the group, "You've never flown before, right, Harry?"

"Not on a broom," Harry said.

"We better start from the beginning, then," Seamus said, stepping forward. "We'll give you a crash course," he added with a snicker—Ron and Dean laughed. Harry raised an eyebrow and glanced at Hermione, who rolled her eyes.

"First you've got to 'up' it," Ron said, taking over.

"…" Harry stared at the red-head blankly.

"You put it on the ground and tell it to 'up' to get it to come to you," Dean explained.

"… I'm already holding it," Harry said, hefting the object in his hand, "Why not skip that part?"

"Well… sure, but it gets you used to using it or something," Seamus said, "You can't really skip it."

Harry looked skeptically back at Hermione again.

The girl shrugged, "They're the experts."

Harry had the distinct feeling he was being made fun of, but he sighed and set the broom on the grass next to him. He shot the experts a dry look. "Now what?"

"Just hold out your hand and say 'up'," Ron directed.

Harry looked at the broom again. It still looked incredibly inanimate, but he'd done stranger things since he arrived at Hogwarts. Rolling his eyes, Harry held out his hand. If he was going to make a fool of himself, he'd do it right.

"Up," He commanded sharply. The broomstick wiggled beside his foot and then leapt into the air. It hit his palm with a _slap_ and Harry closed his fingers around the shaft quickly. "_Now_ can we fly?"

"Whoah," Dean and Seamus voiced in surprise.

"You got it your first time!" Neville exclaimed.

Ron scowled, "That's nothing. Let's see how you do in the air, Hatake." The red-head swung his leg over his broomstick and pushed off the ground, shooting into the air. Half a second later Dean and Seamus were soaring after him.

Harry frowned after them for a moment before gripping his broom in both hands and mounting the same way the other boys had. This stick wiggled again and Harry swayed unsteadily, trying to find his center on the hovering broomstick and not think about how wrong it was to trust his life to such a fragile wooden branch.

"Coming, Harry?" Seamus called out from the sky above, circling over Harry with the other boys.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione said from beside him, backing a few steps away.

Harry grit his teeth and pushed hard against the ground. He rocketed skyward on the broom, air whipping through his hair and dragging at his clothing.

For an insane moment he was out of control. He had no idea what he was doing and the ground was dropping away underneath him so quickly that it wouldn't be long before the fall would kill him. And then, all of a sudden, Harry realized that he _was_ in control.

The feeling of the air on his face was just like it always was when he raced across the rooftops with his teammates, and he really was no higher than the trees in Konoha. He was a shinobi—he was above panicking.

Gripping the handle beneath him, Harry threw his weight forward and abruptly dropped into a nose-dive. He heard shouts from below, but hardly registered them, all of his concentration on what he was doing.

He pulled his weight back again, with less force, and leveled out barely two meters from the ground.

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione's worried voice rang out—Harry spotted the girl running towards him across the field, Neville puffing behind her.

"Is that all you've got?" Ron suddenly appeared in front of him, Dean and Seamus dropping at his left.

"That?" Harry asked. He smirked, "The first thing to learn is how to fall, Weasley. I'm just getting started."

The red-head grinned viciously, "Let's go, then."

Harry grinned back, a gleam in his bright green eyes, "Let's go _fast_."

Before the other boys could so much as blink, the young Genin had rocketed towards the sky again. The other three Gryffindors exchanged surprised looks before racing after him.

**

* * *

**Fifteen minutes into History of Magic, Harry spotted a familiar visage out of the corner of his eye. He blinked, turning to the window, but there was no one and the grounds were quiet in their usual class time lull.

Harry looked at the front of the room again, where Professor Binns was languidly floating through his lecture, emphasizing certain points with marks on the blackboard that Harry was pretty sure were supposed to suggest letters. He still wasn't comfortable around the ghost—it was creepy to think that dead people haunted the school—but there wasn't a way around it since he was the teacher. Today, though, the undead state of his professor was about to offer some advantages.

Professor Binns didfn't even pause in his monologue when Harry disappeared from his seat, slipping across the room and pausing at the window. The boy seated next to it was startled out of his half-asleep state, jolting into awareness at his classmate's sudden presence.

"H-Harry?" Neville stammered, staring at him.

"Sh," Harry said. The Genin soundlessly slid the window open and dropped through it without a backwards glance.

Neville stared at the window blankly for a moment, then shook his head and set it back on his desk.

Harry raced across the grounds to the edge of the forest. He slowed after leaping into the trees, exchanging haste for caution as he moved carefully and silently through them until his target was in sight. He paused half a second, subtly reaching into his hip pouch—shedding his robes in the process—and performed a few quick hand seals before he threw himself from the branches.

"I've been waiting for you," Kakashi said, ducking under the thireen-year-old's initial attack.

Harry spun on the ground, dropping to one knee and throwing his heel out in a spin kick. Kakashi blocked with enough force to spin the boy in the other direction and Harry followed the momentum to throw his kunai around at Kakashi's opposite side. They clattered against the Jounin's blade in a melee of noise until the final blade hit the ground with a hollow _thunk_.

"Are we going home?" Harry asked.

Kakashi's response was a series of vicious attacks. Harry pulled out of the way of a roundhouse high enough to knock off his head, arm out to block the residual kick once its power had diffused. He moved to manipulate the Jounin's leg, but Kakashi threw himself horizontal, his other leg spinning back towards him with a hook.

Harry ducked, releasing his brother and throwing himself out of the way.

"Not just yet," Kakashi said, suddenly behind him.

Harry's breath caught, adrenaline blinding his thoughts as his body reacted faster than his mind could keep up. There was the _clang_ of metal on metal again as Harry's blade caught Kakashi's in the knick of time. The younger boy twisted his kunai, successfully batting the Jounin's blade away from his face.

Kakashi grunted indistinctly in acknowledgement.

"You've kept up your studies?" He asked, blocking an elbow strike from the younger boy.

Harry didn't answer, blood rushing in his ears as he focused everything on gaining the upper hand. He forced himself to keep moving, maintaining a grueling pace of kicks and hand techniques while keeping a sharp lookout to duck and block his brother's return attacks.

Finally, Harry managed a small concentration of chakra into a fast side-kick, doubling its usual force and speed. Kakashi blocked with both forearms and allowed himself to slide away to prevent serious damage.

Harry grinned and an explosion ripped apart half the tree behind the Jounin.

Kakashi realized an instant too late, his eyes wide. He pushed himself forward but the shock of the explosion battered both shinobi into trees. Kakashi hit with a grunt, his body dissolving in a puff of smoke.

Harry landed with a little more control, managing to find his feet soon after. He glanced in Kakashi's direction, then reached for his weapons again, muscles tense as he waited for the man to reveal himself once more.

Kakashi dropped from the branches overhead, landing barely a meter in front of him, not even winded. Harry was breathing heavily and could only stare incredulously. A moment ago it had seemed like he was wearing down the older boy.

"Good. You really got one of my shadow clones," Kakashi said, straightening.

Harry stared, "That was a clone?"

"You wouldn't have been able to do that a month ago," Kakashi said, dodging the question.

"… I've been studying."

"That's not it." Kakashi crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels, observing his brother for several long seconds. "A month ago… you could easily have done any of those things… but you wouldn't have."

Harry shrugged, "I'm in a good mood. I learned how to fly, you know."

Kakashi raised his eyebrows.

"On a broomstick," Harry extrapolated, relaxing his stance a little—still, he couldn't be too careful around his brother. "Apparently it's a wizard game. I'll show you later." He considered congratulating his brother for his birthday, but it was already nearly a week past and Kakashi had never expressed any particular interest in the day. Years ago, he'd expressly told Harry that he didn't want useless gifts, and had rarely been in the village on his birthday since.

Kakashi distracted him from the subject with one sentence. "I have to talk to Dumbledore first."

"… Do you think we'll be able to go home soon?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Kakashi said, "I made good time last week. At this rate, we'll be back within the month."

**

* * *

**"You're looking for information regarding one Tom Riddle."

"Riddle?" Kakashi repeated, frowning under his mask, "I thought you wanted help fighting Voldemort-san."

The old wizard smiled serenely, "Ah, but everyone starts out humbly, Mr. Hatake. Before he became Voldemort, Tom was a student here and lived in an orphanage in London."

"You want me to go to that orphanage," Kakashi guessed, "Will they still have information on… Riddle?"

Dumbledore smiled, "I doubt you will find any information at the orphanage… no, as a matter of fact, the building was destroyed many years ago in an event that was completely unrelated to our current concerns. No, I would like you to speak with the matron, a Mrs. Cole, as I have managed to track down an address. She's an old woman by now, I imagine, but may be able to tell us something of use."

"I see," Kakashi said dryly. Undoubtedly, the woman who raised Voldemort would be able to provide some insight, but old women had a habit of forgetting things that happened a long time ago and made infamously unreliable sources of information.

"The orphanage was an important part of Riddle's life when he was young," Dumbledore said, "Even if she does not remember Tom Riddle in particular, and I am sure that she will, she will be able to tell us something about the way that he lived. I can think of no better place to begin in our quest to understand, and ultimately defeat, Voldemort."

"I have spoken to her once before," the old wizard added, "And I believe it would be best to show you now, rather than force you to hash over the same material again."

Kakashi frowned, watching as the wizard crossed to his large, wooden bureau. With a flick of his wrist the door swung quietly open. A stone basin floated from the top shelf, directed by the wizard's wand until it landed softly on the Headmaster's desk.

"This, Mr. Hatake, is a pensieve," Dumbledore said gravely, pulling a clear bottle from his pocket, "And through it, I will show you the memories I hold of Tom Riddle's orphanage."

The bottle held a white, cloudy mass that looked somewhere between liquid and gas. The old wizard pulled the stopper from the top and tipped the bottle over the pensieve. The shimmering contents flowed out of the neck like water, but there was no splash as they hit the basin. Instead, it swirled into the bowl and settled in a continuously shifting mass.

"… What is it?" Kakashi asked at last, unable to keep his curiosity to himself any longer.

"Memories," Dumbledore said, "Mine, to be exact, from nearly fifty years ago." He glanced at the shinobi, "I said I would show you, didn't I? Lean in slowly, and we shall go together."

_Go where?_ Kakashi thought to ask, but he held his tongue and obeyed the wizard's direction. He would see what would happen soon enough, and there would be time for questions—should they still prove relevant—later.

He leaned forward, watching Dumbledore do the same out of the corner of his eye, until his face was nearly touching the silvery contents. He felt a compulsion to move closer, but wasn't entirely sure if the substance was safe. How could it possibly be memories? There had to be more to it than that.

"A little closer, I think," Dumbledore murmured.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow incredulously, but took a quick breath in, shut his eyes, and pushed his face forward until it touched the cool contents of the bowl.

Suddenly, he felt himself falling. Kakashi automatically reached his hands for the desk to support himself, his eye snapping open, but he no longer stood bent over the Headmaster's desk. Instead, he was falling through darkness, unable to see anything even when he blinked his eye several times.

As suddenly as it had started, the Jounin felt firm ground under his feet and the world snapped into light again. Kakashi looked around—he stood on a cobbled street, in front of a large iron gate surrounding a shabby looking estate.

"And here I come," Kakashi turned to find Dumbledore beside him, smiling at a figure across the street, "Right on schedule, of course."

A man with long, auburn hair was striding toward them, wearing a startlingly plum suit. He smiled and tilted his hat at the driver of a horse-drawn cart as it rolled past him, then continued on his way again, making for the iron gates.

"Is that…?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, "That was me, fifty years ago. Let's follow, shall we?"

Kakashi nodded numbly, and the two set after the younger Dumbledore as he approached Tom Riddle's orphanage.


	12. Pathetic Potter

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but my dog owns Naruto. ... ... Okay, you got me, my dog doesn't own Naruto, either.

Here's chapter 12; two updates in a row on time, I'm really on a roll now! I think things are moving along well, and hopefully you'll enjoy the chapter. A few things to note:

1) Don't accidentally read "Sakomo" as "Sakumo." I apologize for the similar sounding name.

2) The "Yondaime" is mentioned in this chapter, it does not refer to Minato.

3) A point that may be of interest; way down near the end of the chapter, a pun is made about a certain character's face, I'd originally written it as... something else, but decided it was unnecesarily crude in the end. (I blame it on Orson Scott Card.)

4) Finally, I don't include the scene from the pensieve or details of Kakashi's meeting with Mrs. Cole; the former because it would be identical to the scene from book 6, and the latter because it would have quite a bit of repetitive information. Instead, I plan on referencing the two scenes (possibly with flashbacks) whenever needed. I'm not sure if anyone reading this hasn't read the Potter books, but if there's enough interest, I'll add the meeting between Kakashi and Mrs. Cole.

Chapter 12 – Pathetic Potter

Despite the storm raging over them, Katsu felt safe. Sakomo's shoulder pressed hard against his on the left, and Otokaze was lying half on top of his right arm. A thick leather tarp covered all three of them, keeping them safe from the raging sand.

Katsu shifted restlessly and gasped once for breath. He felt safe, but he was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the minute. What had started out as a scorching hot day had already peaked past blistering in the space of the last few minutes. The air under the leather throw was thankfully empty of the sand rushing around them, but the air was hot enough to dry his tongue in a single breath, stale and recycled by the three men breathing together.

His fists clenched in the sand and he grit his teeth. It would be over soon. Otokaze had heard it coming; it wasn't large.

Silence suddenly settled over the three shinobi. The sudden absence of rushing wind and roaring sand felt almost oppressive.

On his right, Otokaze shifted, and together the three teens pushed themselves upright, dislodging the thick layer of sand that had settled over them.

"Everyone alright?" Sakomo asked, his voice rough and hoarse as he collected the leather throw.

"Fi—" Katsu coughed and grimaced, reaching for his canteen. "Fine," he finished, unscrewing the cap with grimy fingers and gasping down nearly half the watery wine in one go. He took a deep breath of fresh air when he'd finished, feeling relieved.

"That was the second one already, how much longer are we set to be out here?" Katsu demanded, glancing from Sakomo to Otokaze.

The former was guzzling from his own canteen and waved his hand without answer. Otokaze was squinting after the storm—a huge black cloud crawling across the desert.

Katsu sighed and tucked his hands behind his head, burying his fingers in gritty, sun-bleached hair. He wondered what it would take to get out of the rest of their tour.

"What're we doing out here, anyway?" He asked, voicing his annoyance, "There's nothing this way except the end of the world. Does the Kazekage think we'll be attacked by monsters?"

"Who knows," Sakomo answered with a shrug, "But the mountains around here have always been dangerous. It's best to keep a close eye on things."

"Nothing to keep an eye _on_," Katsu grumbled, letting his arms fall again.

"We'll have a few more hours of sunlight, yet," Sakomo said, ignoring him, "Otokaze, which way?"

The third Chuunin tore his eyes away from the retreating sandstorm to look over the glistening dunes which stretched before them, into the breeze at it gusted in the wake of the storm. His eyes were squinted tightly, but it didn't bother Katsu. Otokaze didn't rely on his sight for information, anyway. He knew how to really _listen_ to the desert winds.

Instead of the answer his teammates were expecting, Otokaze tilted his head North, a frown crossing his sun-chapped lips.

"… Someone's coming," his voice was still gravely from the storm's brutal treatment.

"Coming?" Sakomo repeated with disbelief.

"Here!" Katsu added—the thought alone was completely laughable. Even the animals of the desert didn't wander this far North. The land was completely inhospitable.

Otokaze tilted his head in the direction of his friends, sand sprinkling out of his brown spikes of hair as a gust of wind blew through them. "As unlikely as it seems, yes… Someone is trespassing on our desert."

Katsu scowled, "That's crazy. No one but the Yondaime would send people out here! Otokaze, I hate to say it, but I think you're losing your touch."

The other boy seemed unperturbed by his criticism, and began walking, his gait slow across the sand. Sakomo followed and, with a sigh, Katsu trailed after them, casting a wary look up at the mountains.

Already they were looming larger than he'd like. The Northern mountains marked the last reaches of their territory. The last reaches of _any_ territory, really. The mountains were insurmountable, and arguably rested on the very edge of the world. Whether or not that was true, they'd always made Katsu uneasy.

A sharp intake of breath made Katsu look up. The teen slowed to a stop next to Sakomo, staring.

Sakomo rubbed his eyes forcibly and stared again, "Katsu…"

Katsu nodded once, "Yeah… I see it, too."

A lone figure was stumbling some distance away, in the valley between dunes. He had a cloth tied around his face, and his bare arms were burned a dark red from the sun. He didn't seem to have noticed them, as he continued his faltering pace without once glancing in their direction.

Abruptly, the figure took a final step and stopped. Katsu bit his lower lip, watching with wide eyes and tense muscles as he waited for the mysterious invader to make his move.

The figure promptly fell forward, collapsing as cleanly as if he'd been killed.

Katsu and his teammates waited, continuing to watch just long enough to be sure that he wasn't going to pop right back up. And then they ran, hurrying down the large dune as quickly as they could through the freshly strewn sand.

"Who do you think he is?" Katsu asked between gasps as he stumbled through the sand.

"Don't know," Sakomo answered, running lightly across the sand in the way that only he could. "Not from around here, by the looks of it."

Katsu surveyed the stranger again with a frown. He was dressed entirely in black, from the standard length slacks to the sleeveless shirt on his back. Both were coated with white desert sand, but they must have been uncomfortable. Katsu couldn't imagine wearing such dark colors in the intense desert heat.

The intruder, whoever he was, didn't stir when they surrounded him, and Sakomo cautiously reached out to turn him over. Even that wasn't enough to elicit a response.

"Leaf," Otokaze said.

Katsu's eyes traveled up the still figure to his face. A hitai-ate secured the cloth he'd seen to the man's face, and the grimy plate bore the symbol of the Hidden Leaf Village.

"What's he doing way out here?" Katsu asked.

Sakomo was bent over him, and he leaned closer to pry one of the man's eyelids open, peering grimly at the black iris underneath. "He's really out of it… maybe heat stroke."

"We should bring him back to the village," Otokaze said.

Katsu nodded, "The Kazekage will want to hear about this. Think they're planning an attack?"

"Nonsense," Sakomo said, shifting the Leaf Ninja's body, "They have no reason to attack us. Katsu help me."

Katsu complied, stooping to pick up the unconscious nin's other side. Together, the two boys managed to haul him to his feet. It was as good a reason as any to head home early. "Let's go, Otokaze—which way's home?"

Instead of answering, Otokaze turned and started walking, leaving his two companions to follow, dragging their intruder between them.

* * *

Kakashi paced up and down the edge of the cliff, craning his neck over the edge now and then to peer down the sheer side at the sea far below. The sun was low in the sky, reflecting brightly into his face when he looked at the water, but the Jounin simply squinted against the light and continued his search.

He was sure he'd found the right place—Mrs. Cole had described it well with a little persuasion. His interest had been peaked when she mentioned the seaside, and upon hearing her talk of a cave, he hadn't been able to resist.

"_He used to… play in a cave near the seaside," _the old woman had said, nursing a strong cup of tea Kakashi had generously mixed for her—he wasn't sure if he'd needed the drug, but a little extra insurance that she'd tell him the truth couldn't hurt. _"I never did see it, but it couldn't have been far… we had picnics out there and he and the other children were always back before we left."_

That by itself wouldn't have been so interesting if it hadn't been for the similar incident she spoke of in Dumbledore's memory. Tom Riddle had apparently terrorized other children in his cave. It must have been some sort of hideaway for him—a place where he could lord his power over others without rousing undue suspicion.

Kakashi was reminded of Orochimaru's caves—where he'd hidden away the specimens of his experiments to keep his work from judging eyes. He already had a useable profile of the Snake Sannin, so it would be easy to modify that for Voldemort, if he was able to continue drawing parallels between them.

But first he had to actually _find_ the cave.

The Jounin stuck his head over the side of the cliff again, squinting down the rock face for shadows or cracks that might be entrances to some sort of cave. If children had found their way down to it, it couldn't be that hard to reach.

Shaking his head, the young man moved on.

* * *

It was a tiny crevice that he found just as the sun was setting, the red reflection on the water below also reflected off the pool entering the cavern. Kakashi easily made his way down the face of the cliff, and the water was calm enough that he was able to run across a flooded section of the rock bed to reach the entrance.

He slipped inside and squinted in the darkness, reaching for a flare from one of his pockets. Kakashi was completely disappointed.

The small cavern looked entirely normal. There were no bones scattered about—human or animal—no marking on the walls, in blood or otherwise. He walked the entire circumference and found nothing. He explored every inch of the wall, then the floor and the ceiling, but found nothing to indicate a secret passage.

It was an entirely normal cavern.

It was possible, Kakashi mused, that he'd found the wrong cave. This one was a little difficult to get to—civilian children would have a hard time scaling the cliff and then swimming across to this outlet—but it was too dark to continue his search.

With a sigh, the Jounin settled on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him and his back against the cool stone of the cave.

There was also a possibility that the cavern was a dead end. If he hadn't seen it in Dumbledore's memory before his conversation with Mrs. Cole, he probably would have thought nothing of it when she mentioned it. And maybe there really wasn't anything to it. Maybe it was just a cave that a child had used as an escape from a cruel life.

Kakashi ran a hand through his disheveled hair and frowned. His gut instinct told him otherwise. There was _something_ to the cave or it wouldn't have been mentioned so frequently.

Pushing the thought from his mind, the Jounin began going over the conclusions he'd drawn from his meetings.

Voldemort was a man who valued individuality. That had struck him as the most shocking thing, at first. He had an elevated sense of self-purpose and cared nothing for the group mentality that Kakashi had grown up with. The man was loyal to no one and cared for no one but himself. It was disgusting. Even Orochimaru valued the lives of his underlings, if only for how useful or interesting they might be to him.

And then there was the way Voldemort seemed to flaunt his superiority. As a child, he had stolen things and frightened the other children to show them he was their better—he was the one in charge. As an adult, Voldemort marked his underlings like slaves, giving them a permanent reminder that they served him, that he was stronger than they could ever hope to be.

Finally, he was a wizard. Apparently, a very strong one, since no one from the wizarding community seemed to be able to put a stop to him. Combined with inflated sense of self-purpose, he was probably very proud of his abilities.

What would a man like that want to have a dingy cave for? There was nothing special or attractive about it. And it was small. Voldemort would probably prefer something more grand.

Kakashi peered at the shadowy walls again, flare still burning beside him. It sputtered, nearing the end of its life, and Kakashi frowned. He reached up, and uncovered the Sharingan to the expanse of the cave, searching for some kind of Genjutsu that he might have missed earlier.

The Jounin squinted in the low, flickering light, and his frown deepened. Rising to his feet, he crossed to the far wall, shifting to examine it from different angles.

It was strange. Definitely not a normal rock face. At the same time, he couldn't tell _what_, exactly, it was.

The Genjutsu, if that's what it was, was elusive, even to his Sharingan, and the portion of rock appeared different depending on how he looked at it. Even looking at it constantly, from the same position, the vision changed before his eyes.

For an instant, he thought he could see writing; some sort of boxy letters he couldn't read. He could see the faint outline of an arch, perhaps some sort of doorway. And then he saw blood, and the wall seemed to be washed in the sticky, red liquid. At one point, he thought he saw a tunnel, stretching before him, sloping into the earth, but the moment he tried to get a better look, it was gone, overlaid again with the stone wall of the cave, then the blood or the strange writing.

Kakashi clenched his Sharingan shut, looking away. The overlapping images were causing a throbbing in his head. What exactly _was_ it, and why couldn't his Sharingan see through it normally?

The man scowled. Clearly, it was magical. He'd run into problems seeing magical things before—the dementors he'd run into in Yekaterinburg, for example, and the castle, upon his return. Wizards seemed to use magic to hide things from the eyes of non-magical people, and while his Sharingan was able to see through those illusions as it saw through Genjutsu, the two weren't the same and his gift was not always as effective as he'd like against the former.

But he might be right. Maybe there _was_ something to the cave.

* * *

The wardrobe shook and shuddered under the attention of the class. Harry peered at it thoughtfully, finding himself immensely curious. A boggart seemed to be a very interesting creature. Some Genjutsu experts could do something similar. They could approximate a person's worst fears based on their knowledge of the target, but if one could make an accurate prediction, the attack could be very effective.

He wasn't sure what he was afraid of. Had it been a few years ago, it might have been fire, or fire-related, at least; maybe one of those flame-creatures that had attacked his house when he lived with the Dursleys. But while the smell of burning flesh still repulsed him, he'd managed to get that fear pretty much under control. He thought his greatest fear might be losing Kakashi, but as horrible as that would be, he'd lost family members before, and probably would again in their line of work. He knew, when that happened, he'd find a way to move on, as he had throughout his past..

He didn't fear dying—he knew it was inevitable, although he didn't enjoy the thought. He didn't fear killing; he'd been brought up to understand the process for years. He couldn't think of anything he was really afraid of.

Maybe the boggart would be forced to choose something less scary. Like one of those flame-creatures. He smirked—that would be easy to deal with. He'd make the flames turn into sakura flowers or something.

A jet of sparks shot from Professor Lupin's wand and hit the wardrobe door. It burst open and the exact copy of Professor Snape, who'd only left the staff room moments before, stalked out of it.

Neville backed away from the doppelganger, face pale and hands shaking. Harry found it entirely ridiculous. True, the Potions Master was a self-important man with a volatile personality, but there wasn't anything _scary_ about him.

Harry had met scarier people during a walk through the park in Konoha.

Neville pointed his wand, and managed a stammering, "_R-riddikulus_!"

There was a loud crack and, all of a sudden, the Snape-Boggart was wearing an outrageously green dress, a hideous vulture-topped hat, and a clashing red handbag. Harry's mouth dropped open and he wished for a camera as the rest of the class roared with laughter. The Genin grinned, Snape would be furiously humiliated to see something like this—it was a pity the man had left the room before they started.

Lupin shouted out the name of the next student as the boggart stared around at the laughing mass in confusion. Neville scurried back into the crowd as the girl took his place, and the oddly dressed Snape disappeared with another crack, replaced by a man wrapped in blood-stained bandages.

Harry frowned as the thing lumbered slowly towards the girl, and thought the Snape-Boggart had been scarier.

With a shout of: "_Riddikulus_!" the man was tripping over his own bandages and Professor Lupin called out the next student.

Ron Weasley had just _Riddikulused_ the legs off a giant spider when Harry's name was finally called. He stepped forward to face his fear. The spider stopped spinning, it's eight beady eyes focusing on him before _crack!_

Harry was staring at his duplicate.

It wasn't an exact duplicate. The Boggart-Harry was dressed in shinobi-wear, grim-faced and hard set. His bright green eyes met Harry's and they narrowed, hand moving to the weapon pouch at his thigh.

Harry stared in confusion, and could hear muttered comments behind him. What was so scary about himself? Then his eyes landed on the forehead protector: the proud Leaf of Konoha had a large scratch directly through it, deep and crude.

The Genin felt his mouth go dry, and his heart thudded loudly in his chest.

It was only an illusion, he reminded himself. He was, and always would be, a Konoha shinobi. But they'd been gone for a long time, and there was always the possibility that this illusion was more real than Harry liked to think. What if he and Kakashi really had been labeled as Nuke-nin? What if they were thrown in jail—or killed—when they returned? What if they had to leave the village forever?

Harry shuddered at the thought.

"Harry!" Professor Lupin snapped.

Both Harry and Missing-Boggart-Harry seemed to snap out of their stillness at the same time. The boggart attacked.

Harry grimaced, pointing his wand and shouting, "_Riddikulus_!" He only just managed to jump out of the way of the kunai in time. The class shrieked and Lupin rushed forward, but the boggart was focused on Harry, and it leapt towards him again, blades out and green eyes cold and emotionless.

Harry tried to think of something that could make the situation funny, but his mind drew a blank. There was nothing funny about abandoning one's village and betraying one's friends. "_Riddikulus_!" He snapped again, with no effect.

Growling in annoyance, Harry dropped the wand in favor of reaching into his robes to find kunai of his own, dodging out of the way as three knives flew at him. He threw a kunai of his own in return, and the blade hit its mark, sticking the doppelganger in its heart.

The boggart completely ignored the wound. There wasn't even any blood. Only now, more screams drew its attention from Harry. It seemed to almost swell with power before its green eyes flashed and it drew an additional set of weapons, four in each hand. Harry's heart leapt into his throat as he realized what it was going to do.

"Harry!" Lupin shouted again, "You need to use your wand! Remember the spell!"

Harry ignored him and threw a trio of kunai at his double—all three hit the boggart in the chest, and it was enough to make the creature stumble backwards once and turn his attention back to Harry. Harry rolled out of the way of the attack and tossed a handful of shuriken, which the boggart blocked with ease, stalking towards him. It drew a katana from its back as it walked, and raised the blade menacingly.

Harry dived through its legs, throwing another attack from behind—the knife plunged into the back of Boggart-Harry's scull with a sickening crunch, the katana falling from momentarily senseless fingers. Still, the creature wheeled around to face him again. This time he began to form hand seals. Harry recognized the jutsu almost immediately and rolled out of the way of a jet of flames.

He landed on one knee, breathing heavily as he stared at the boggart. This was impossible—how was he supposed to defeat something that couldn't be hurt?

Harry shifted as the boggart turned towards him again, and his foot brushed something that clattered on the ground. Glancing down, he saw his wand. Without hesitation, he snapped it up and jumped away from a flying kick that had the boggart stumbling to a stop when it landed, spinning to face him again.

Harry raised his wand and met the boggart's gaze as it raised it drew a set of shuriken. Harry thought furiously. There was nothing funny about a nuke-nin, but he didn't have to make the situation itself funny. He just had to make the image he was seeing funny.

The boggart threw its handful of knives and Harry took a deep breath, shouting, "_Riddikulus_!"

The shuriken turned into pink flower petals that harmlessly fluttered to the ground. There were a few uncertain giggles from the students who'd taken shelter behind the tables on the other side of the room.

The boggart scowled and grabbed another kunai. Harry smirked.

"Boom," he said.

With a confused expression, the boggart looked at his hand, in just enough time to see the explosion tag quickly burning itself out on the handle of his kunai. Missing-Boggart-Harry's eyes widened in alarm, but the tag exploded before he could do anything with it.

The boggart cringed and flinched back, but was only showered with more flower pedals. Harry snickered and there were a few more laughs behind him.

A hand grabbed his shoulder from behind and Harry turned quickly to find Professor Lupin beside him. The man only smiled and pulled him back, stepping forward himself.

"That's enough, Harry," he said softly, and the boggart—still looking confused—changed again with another _crack_!

This time it rose into the air, becoming a pale orb hanging near the ceiling. Professor Lupin pointed his wand with a casual, "_Riddikulus_," and the orb turned into a cockroach, falling to scrabble at the floor. The man gave a hearty laugh and the boggart burst into smoke, disappearing altogether.

"Excellent, everyone, that was very well done," Lupin said, patting Harry's shoulder once more as he returned to the rest of the class, "What are you all doing back there? It was only a boggart. Five points to everyone who tackled it, and ten to Hermione, for her excellent answers at the beginning of class."

He ushered the class to the doors, "Please read the chapter on boggarts in your text… you'll turn in a summary on Monday as homework. That will be all."

The class was somewhat subdued as they filed out of the staff room, and several of the students shot Harry wary looks. Harry ignored them and hurried to pass through the corridors.

He was still feeling annoyed from the boggart incident. Not only was he shaken about what it had turned into, and the uneasy reality that it was closer than he liked to believe, but he'd made an entire mess of the lesson. It took him three tries to get the stupid spell to work.

"Shinobi aren't known for their sense of humor," he muttered to himself. It didn't make him feel any better.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, running after him in the halls to catch up.

Harry walked a little faster, but the girl caught up to him all the same.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked, forced to walk very quickly to keep up with his pace, "At first I thought it was just turning into you, but why'd it have all those knives and things? And why did _you_ have those knives? I'm sure that's against the rules."

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry said coldly.

Hermione ignored him, "And that thing with the fire—what was that? Can _you_ do all of those things, Harry? I just don't understand… you're afraid of attacking yourself?"

"Didn't you notice the headband?" Harry asked sharply, walking faster still. Hermione had to trot a little to keep up.

"What about the headband?"

"Nothing," Harry said, "Leave me alone." He hurried to turn the corridor before her, and by the time the girl caught up, he was gone.

* * *

Kakashi returned from Dumbledore's mission the next Saturday. He stayed long enough to give Harry advice on his training and left again on Sunday. It was Tuesday, and Harry was having a bad day before his first class even started.

With a growl, the thirteen-year-old ducked to the floor, scrutinizing the area under the wooden benches in the boys' shower room. Nothing.

He stalked the length of the room and checked each stall, even though there was no way one of his things could have ended up there. The exercise proved as fruitless as he'd anticipated and Harry gave up, standing in front of a mirror to scrutinize his appearance.

Someone had apparently thought it would be funny to take his hitai-ate. They hadn't touched the rest of his clothes, which was good since his weapons had been stashed further down in the pile, but it felt wrong not to be wearing the strip of cloth across his forehead. He'd been a Genin for two years now, and had worn that headband every day since he graduated from the Academy.

As he stared at his own irritated face, Harry realized another problem. With the way his hair stuck up oddly, his scar was clearly visible. The boy grimaced.

He'd read up on everything the wizards knew about himself early on in his stay at Hogwarts, and knew there were two things that made Harry Potter stand out from ordinary wizards. One was his stark white hair—the wizards presumed it was an effect of the curse Voldemort had hit him with, but Harry knew better. The other was the distinctive, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

It had been hard enough to convince people he was not Harry Potter just for having a head of white hair. If they saw his scar, too, it would probably be impossible.

With a sigh, the boy reached up, trying his best to flatten his hair so it would cover the mark. Unfortunately, his hair just kept popping up again, and it was nearly time for class. Harry thought for a moment—was there anything else he could use in place of his hitai-ate, just to cover his forehead?

The Genin hurried back to his dormitory. He wasn't afraid of people seeing him there—there were only ten minutes until classes started, so most students were already finding their way through the corridors or still down at breakfast. He'd never seen any of his classmates until their first hour class.

Throwing open his trunk, Harry rifled through the mess inside until he found a fresh roll of bandages. It would look silly; but it would have to do for now. Grimacing, he undid the knot keeping the roll together and began winding the white cloth around his head.

**

* * *

**

"Harry—" the Genin sent his potions' partner a glare and she bit back her question, as she had been doing for the last hour and a half.

Harry was feeling particularly cross because everyone kept shooting him strange looks. At least, it felt that way to him. He couldn't wait to get some free time to search down whatever idiot had taken his hitai-ate, but in the meantime he entertained himself with thinking of all the ways he could make it so they didn't repeat their mistake.

"Harry," Hermione started again. Harry sent her another withering glare, but this time she persevered, although her tone was subdued, "We… need those flakes now."

Wordlessly, Harry moved across to the cauldron and scraped the ingredient in. Immediately the potion fizzed and turned from a mucky brown to a cheerful red. Setting his board aside, Harry took a moment to stir it, and then scooped some out. He turned—Hermione was already ready with their bottle.

They'd finished minutes before the class was over, and Snape fixed him with the same look of loathing that he always did as he dismissed the class. Harry ignored it, ducking out of the door before his classmates could catch him. They were quick on his heels despite his efforts.

"Harry, what happened to your head?" Hermione asked as she caught up. Ron and the other boys were right behind her.

"You're not wearing your usual headband-thing," Ron added.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Dean asked.

"Centaurs attacked me during training this morning," Harry said nonchalantly, increasing his speed a bit.

"Centaurs!" The other students hurried to keep up with him.

"Are you telling the truth?" Hermione asked suspiciously, frowning at the white-haired boy. She'd learned, rather quickly, to take everything Harry said with a grain of salt. He didn't seem to have any trouble spinning lies when he wanted to, and could make them seem quite natural.

Harry shrugged unhappily, "I guess they don't like me so close to the forest."

"The Centaurs never come out of the forest," Seamus put in.

"So maybe I was in the forest," Harry said.

"Harry, if you were really hurt, you should go see Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione exclaimed, "She could fix you right up."

"Then she'd want to know how I got hurt," Harry said dryly, "I don't exactly want another set of detentions for poking around where I'm not supposed to be."

"You didn't even go to your _last_ set of detentions," Seamus said.

"Is Professor Snape still trying to make you go to them?" Dean wondered.

"I think so," Harry shrugged, "I tone out most of what he says when his face gets that nasty Harry-Look."

The boys snickered, but Hermione wouldn't be so easily distracted. "I _really_ think you should go to the infirmary, Harry. You can always make something up to tell Madam Pomfrey."

"Hermione?" Ron asked, looking at the girl in surprise, "Condoning _dishonesty_?"

The girl flushed, "Well… I don't exactly _condone_ it, Ronald, but I think Harry getting his injury attended to is a little more important than moral scruples."

"I'm _not_ going to see Madam Pomfrey," Harry said firmly.

Hermione probably would have pressed the point further—she was irritatingly persistent like that—but their conversation was rudely interrupted by the pompous voice of Draco Malfoy.

"What's with the bandages, Hatake?" He called out loudly, "Got something you're trying to hide?" His ever-present group of Slytherin-tagalongs laughed cruelly.

The Gryffindors turned to face them.

"Malfoy," Ron growled.

"Yeah," Harry retorted, "A tattoo of your face—Dumbledore said it was too offensive to be shown plainly."

The Gryffindor boys laughed and Hermione looked at him in surprise. Malfoy's face went red, contorting in anger. He reached for his wand, but Harry was faster. His fellow Gryffindors didn't even notice him move before his wand was trained steadily on the other boy.

"Don't do anything you'll regret, Malfoy," Harry warned coolly.

For a second, indecision churned in the blond's slate blue eyes, then they hardened again. He drew his wand the rest of the way and pointed it back at the other boy. "Tell that to yourself," he growled, "We all know you're rubbish with magic."

The Slytherin flicked his wand, naming a spell even as the other students went for wands of their own. Harry was in front of him in an instant, forcing the blond's hand up so his spell harmlessly hit the ceiling. More wands were pointed at him as the Slytherins reacted with anger, but they couldn't do anything, for fear of hitting their housemate.

Harry twisted the arm with ease and Malfoy gasped, his wand clattering to the floor.

"Maybe," Harry said, "But I'm excellent at muggle fighting."

"L-let go!" Malfoy cried, squirming in his hold, face pale and eyes a little watery, "You're going to break it, you idiot!"

"It would serve you right if he does!" Ron called back.

"Harry," Hermione said anxiously.

Harry had no intention of breaking the civilian's arm. The other boy was pathetic and he was demeaning himself enough already. "Call your people off," Harry ordered, giving the arm another tiny twist that had Malfoy bouncing on his toes, face twisted with anxiety, "And don't bother me again."

The blond nodded hastily, "Alright, alright, just let me go!" Behind him, the other Slytherins reluctantly lowered their wands.

Harry eyed them suspiciously and shoved Malfoy away. He turned to rejoin his housemates.

"You should've broken his arm, mate," Ron said disappointedly as they headed down the hall again.

They'd only made it ten feet when a force suddenly hit Harry from behind. He knew it wasn't a person, but the attack packed nearly as much wallop as his brother's punches, and he landed hard on the ground.

Clenching his jaw in anger, Harry jumped to his feet, spinning on the spot, murderous green eyes glowering back at Malfoy, who was still holding his wand. The blond's smug expression faded completely under the intense glare, and he backed up a step, face pale.

"Th-that's—" Malfoy stammered, not quite making it past the first word.

"Blimey—look there, Draco!" The portly boy on Malfoy's left was pointing, finger outstretched, directly at Harry's face.

Horror suddenly filled the Genin and he reached up to cover his bare forehead with one hand—whatever spell Malfoy had used, his bandages had come undone. It didn't take long for the Slytherin's superior demeanor to return, either.

Malfoy straightened, smirking. "So, you _are_ Harry Potter, after all. Pathetic." He laughed, "Ha—Pathetic Potter!"

The rest of the Slytherins joined his laughter and Harry wished he'd broken the brat's arm, after all. He was going to murder whoever had taken his hitai-ate. Right after he killed Malfoy.

He took a step towards the group, his blood rushing through his ears with anger. They must have been able to sense his murderous intent, because every one of the Slytherins suddenly stopped laughing, snapping their wands out again.

"The lowest of the low," Harry growled, "Is attacking someone who's just shown you an act of mercy. This time, I won't stop with your arm, Malfoy."

He took another step, and the Slytherins fled.


	13. Broken Pacts

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, Harry Potter, or any elephants pertaining to them.

I've been thinking for a while now (the past 2 chapters or so) that I probably should have at least mentioned Kakashi's birthday passing, or everyone's going to think he's eternally 19. The truth is he's been 20 since chapter 11. So, I went back and added about 2-3 sentences that don't really change the story but at least acknowledge the passing of time.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy chapter 13!

Chapter 13 – Broken Pacts

Harry entered the headmaster's office without knocking and crossed his arms, looking at the man expectantly. "You wanted to see me."

"Yes, Harry, please, take a seat," Dumbledore motioned towards the padded chair on the other side of his desk.

Harry scowled and didn't move, "I'm busy at the moment, so if you have something to say, then say it."

The old wizard sighed, "Very well… I heard about the incident with Mr. Malfoy this morning."

Harry's expression didn't change, although his eyes darkened slightly. He would make Malfoy _very_ sorry he'd ever even _thought_ of using magic against him. But for now, there was a more important matter at hand.

"I want to make sure you understand the seriousness of your situation," Dumbledore continued somberly.

"I understand," Harry snapped. Of course he understood. Now he'd be swamped with attention and heralded as the wizarding world's savior wherever he went. It had been bad enough being known as the only exchange student ever to be accepted into Hogwarts, but it was about to get worse. At lunch he'd nearly been poisoned—some sort of love potion, Hermione had told him—but he'd noticed the unfamiliar scent just in time.

"I'm not convinced that you do," the Headmaster said plainly. Harry shot him a glare, but the wizard continued, unperturbed. "Harry, this isn't about interschool relations or even your own privacy. Most of the school has heard the story of your scar by now, and those who haven't will have definitely heard by tomorrow. Students have notoriously loose lips, and by the end of the week the entire wizarding world will be buzzing with the news of your location."

He met Harry's gaze with a serious edge, "The _entire_ wizarding world, Harry. Including Lord Voldemort."

Harry thought quickly about the ramifications of such knowledge in the hands of the man he was supposed to kill. "You think he'll come after me."

"There is a very strong likelihood," Dumbledore confirmed gravely.

"I can take care of myself," Harry shrugged. If Voldemort came after him, that would make things easier. He wouldn't have to track the wizard down himself.

Dumbledore sighed, "You still don't understand, do you, Harry?"

"If that's all, I'll let myself out," Harry said dryly, taking a step towards the door.

"There is one other thing," Dumbledore called after him. Harry paused. The wizard pulled open the top right drawer of his desk.

"I believe this belongs to you," the man said, pulling a neatly folded rectangle of fabric from the drawer and setting it on the far edge of his desk.

Harry's expression darkened immediately and he snatched up his hitai-ate, quickly moving to unfold the cloth. "Where did you get this?" He demanded, "Who took it?"

"Now, Harry, please don't do anything rash," the wizard said in a placating manner, "A couple of students took it, but they didn't mean to cause as much trouble as they did. As I understand it, they were planning on returning it to you tomorrow, but things got out of hand before they had a chance. All's well that ends well, I always say, you have it back in your possession now, so there's no need to take drastic action."

Harry wasn't listening. Instead he was staring at the metal plate of the hitai-ate with horror. The Leaf emblem was gone. Instead, a snail with a swirling shell and a curved neck was crawling across the metal. His heart thumped hard against his ribcage with anger, but the Genin managed to control himself, setting the item back on the headmaster's desk.

"This isn't mine," he said tightly.

Dumbledore frowned, "What? I'm sure that it is, Harry…" He reached across to examine the headband.

"My hitai-ate doesn't have a _snail_ on the front," Harry said stiffly, his hands forming fists. Someone was as good as dead, and he had a feeling he knew who.

"Oh, I see," Dumbledore said, and he had the audacity to chuckle at the young ninja's plight.

Harry glowered at him—all of the wizards in this place needed to be put in their place.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't notice before," the Headmaster apologized. He drew out his wand and pointed it at the plate, muttering a series of incantations under his breath.

A minute later he held it out once more. Harry didn't reach for it. Instead, he peered suspiciously at the inscription. The snail was gone, the Konoha Leaf back in its place.

"It was a good, strong spell," Dumbledore said cheerfully, "Those boys are certainly improving, but it will be some time before they can create something that will stump me. Your headband is as good as new."

Harry looked at Dumbledore suspiciously a moment longer before he snatched up his property and stormed out of the room without another word.

* * *

The next morning three students were found hanging by their ankles in the Great Hall. Harry hadn't been there when they'd been discovered—only one still semi-conscious—but his classmates were still discussing the topic heavily when they walked into their morning Charms class. Almost immediately, the white-haired teen was zeroed in on.

"Hatake!" Dean called out as he, the other boys, and Hermione hurried across to him. He frowned suddenly and stopped a few steps away, "Or should I be saying Potter now?"

"I'm not Harry Potter," Harry said, an edge of irritation in his voice. Couldn't they tell by the way he introduced himself?

"You don't have to keep denying it, Harry," Hermione said, "We all saw your scar the other day. Why are you lying about who you are, anyway?"

"I'm _not_ lying, Granger!" Harry snapped, shooting the girl a glare. He'd made it quite clear to her several times already that he wasn't Harry Potter and didn't want to be referred to as such. Hermione seemed unable to understand.

"You might have been able to fool us with that line before," Hermione said in a carefully controlled tone, "But the similarities are too uncanny for it to be coincidence. The odds that—"

"My father's name was Hatake," Harry ground out, "I'm a shinobi. I am my _father's_ son, how is that hard to understand?"

Hermione's expression faltered and the other Gryffindor boys looked at her warily. When she opened her mouth again, they stepped back, as though afraid Harry might think they were siding with her. "Your father was James Potter," she said obstinately, "And _his_ father was—"

"_My_ father was Hatake Sakumo," Harry snapped. He sighed and his shoulders slumped a little. "You couldn't know, anyway, it isn't in your books."

Hermione's eyebrows lowered and she frowned at him doubtfully.

"My father came to England on a mission," Harry supplied, "I don't know the details, but he ended up… um… I'm not sure how you say it…"

"Shagging?" Ron offered helpfully.

"Shagging?" Harry repeated, shooting the red head a look at the strange word. The Weasley shrugged. "Fine, he ended up _shagging_ Lily Potter, then went home. He probably never even knew he had another son, but he did, and that was _me_, and that's why I have white hair—because _he_ did—and why my name is Hatake and _not_ Potter." He glared at the girl again, "Now will you stop insisting on giving me the wrong name?"

An awkward silence settled around them. Other students continued to file into the room—the Gryffindors were paired with Hufflepuff for Charms, and the class was due to start soon.

Dean shifted awkwardly and then spoke, "Anyway, did you hear what happened?"

Harry stared at him blankly and didn't point out the obvious. How could he have heard when he was off training all morning?

Ron was laughing heartily, "I still can't believe someone got the upper hand on Fred and George like that!"

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed, "They could have been seriously hurt! For all we know, they might be! The human body wasn't made to hang upside down like that for long amounts of time…"

"At my old school, everyone had to pass a test to survive at least three days of hanging upside down," Harry said, "A few hours isn't enough to kill someone. Not unless there's already something wrong with them."

The girl shot him a glare, eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Oh, really? So you think it's fine to go around tying people up and hanging them from ceilings?"

Harry shrugged, "It's better than slitting their throats and dumping the bodies in the lake."

"It is better than that," Seamus agreed. The boys laughed.

"You should've seen Filch," Dean added, "He was practically skipping for joy—said someone was finally catching on to the way students _should_ be punished."

"I think it's a dirty, cruel trick," Hermione said, glaring at Harry pointedly.

Harry imagined she knew—or at least suspected—how those Gryffindors were put where they were. He considered saying something to throw her off his trail—agree with her that the methods were too cruel to be used on people or something—but he decided it was more trouble than it was worth. She'd been mad at him before, and she'd undoubtedly get mad at him again. Regardless, Professor Flitwick entered the room and called for a start of the lesson. He smiled innocently at the girl before giving the short professor his attention.

* * *

He was aware, first, of a feeling of unpleasant surprise. Slowly, his surroundings seemed to coalesce around him, like he was gently returning from deep in his thoughts. He was confused for a moment, but only mildly, and it passed.

He stood in a wood-paneled room; dark and gloomy, lit only dimly by the flickering light of a fire. A man stood before him in the billowing black robes so many wizards seemed to prefer, his head bowed in respect and submission. His surprise was quickly turning to anger, and he whipped out his wand.

"You had better not be lying to me, Thomas," his own voice seemed both strange and not; heavy with malice and threat.

"I would never, master," the man was quick to assure him, "The news is all over: a boy with white hair and a lightning shaped scar. Who else could it be?"

He didn't answer for a moment until, finally, he admitted a biting, "No one." His anger soared to fury, hatred and loathing filling him. "So, the rumors were true," the words spat out of him grudgingly, tainted with disgust, "That boy still lives."

"It would seem so, my lord," the quavering man in front of him said.

"I will have to speak with Severus," he said cruelly, "He should have informed me of this _weeks_ ago."

Abruptly, his anger vanished, transformed into a vicious sort of enthusiasm. He laughed harshly, "That old fool. He has practically delivered the boy into my hands. Now that I know where to find him, it is only a mater of time before I finish what I started." He grinned, "I will have to thank him before I kill him."

He sat back, easing comfortably into an armchair, and held out his empty left hand expectantly. "Thomas, your arm!" He snapped, "It's high time our potions master accounted for his lack of sense."

Harry jerked out of sleep with a burning pain in his scar, nearly as bad as the first time he'd experienced it. He gasped, his hands flying to his forehead, but he felt none of the tell-tale wetness of blood.

Slowly he relaxed against his pillow, eyes clenching tightly as the splitting pain slowly diminished into a pounding throb. Just like the first time, he couldn't think of anything that had triggered the attack. The room was quiet except for his own harsh breathing and the usual nocturnal noises of his roommates.

Still, he had a bad feeling that the dream was more than just a dream.

* * *

"Was it the same man as before?" Kakashi asked. Harry had quickly related the events of two nights past at his first opportunity when his brother returned. He was partially relieved that Kakashi was taking it as seriously as he had, but also a little worried that the Jounin saw cause to worry, as well.

He shrugged, "I didn't see his face. It was more like I _was_ him in the… dream or whatever it was. And there wasn't a mirror to see myself this time. It felt the same, though."

The Jounin frowned pensively, "And there wasn't anyone around but your housemates. It can't possibly be someone nearby causing it, then; none of them would have been there last time."

Harry nodded in agreement, "It probably wasn't anything in Konoha, either. Besides, the man was a wizard—I had a wand this time—and most people don't know about wizards back home."

"Other than the vision you saw, it was the same?" Kakashi asked.

"The pain wasn't as bad," Harry mused, "And it passed pretty quickly." He frowned, "Of course, it wasn't all weird and disjointed this time, either. And… I don't know, it was just a lot clearer, I guess."

Kakashi didn't have much advice to offer.

"Try meditating before you go to bed," he suggested, "It might strengthen your mind to recognize illusions."

Harry followed his brother's advice even though he doubted it would do any good. Still, October progressed and Harry didn't suffer from another attack.

His relationship with his classmates had changed, though. Several girls couldn't seem to stand being in the same room as him, and the giggling was worse than ever. And it wasn't just the girls. Every boy in Gryffindor, and a large portion from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses, seemed to want to be his friend—Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, even offered to let him sit in on a team practice. Ron assured Harry that it was a real honor.

Harry wasn't fond of change, and let the twisting dynamics of his life fuel his anger with Malfoy as he began undertaking a new type of training.

Draco Malfoy deserved something much worse than a night of dangling by his ankles, but there was no honor in pounding a terrified civilian. So Harry was biding his time, trying to come up with a suitable way to punish the brat. And ensuring that every moment he did nothing would only increase the Slytherin's fear of him—and what was to come.

Harry knew a bit about killing intent, a method of focusing chakra similarly to Genjutsu in such a way that the victim could feel the danger he was in. In extreme cases the target might even 'see' his own 'death'. Harry didn't have much experience controlling any sort of killing intent himself, so this was what he practiced. It had gotten to the point where Malfoy was terrified to even _look_ in his direction.

"Blimey, Harry," Ron commented after potions one day. Malfoy had dashed out of the classroom without so much as a sneer at the Gryffindor half of the room. "What'd you _do_ to him!"

Harry wasn't exactly sure when the Weasley had decided they were on a first name basis. He supposed it had started soon after the skirmish with the Slytherins in the hallway, but couldn't be sure with all of the other changes that had occurred at the time.

"Me?" The Genin asked with as much wide-eyed innocence as he could manage. "I haven't even _spoken_ to him since he attacked us in the halls that day. Maybe it was Longbottom."

Ron laughed. "Yeah, right. We know you were the one who made piñatas out of my brothers and Lee—you must've done something _really_ nasty to Malfoy!"

"Nothing," Harry insisted, "I think it's more that he knows I'm _going_ to do something. Or he _thinks_ he does, at least." He shrugged.

Ron clapped him on the shoulder, "Well, whatever you're doing, keep it up. I haven't seen Malfoy this scared since—ever! Every time he sees you he looks like he's gonna wet himself."

Harry didn't try too hard to hide his smirk. He was definitely improving in his training. Idly, he wondered whether Malfoy was imagining the many ways he could kill him, yet.

* * *

Little Hangleton was a small, sprawled town with more than its share of empty houses and abandoned businesses. The streets were empty; cold and abandoned as Kakashi made his way cautiously through the streets. Finding a small corner café that was still open, the Jounin slipped inside.

There were only a handful of customers, but every eye watched as the young man approached the counter, mumbling an order for coffee and slouching onto one of the high stools.

He was using a henge and would look quite ordinary to the civilians, with plain brown hair and the most ordinary and familiar face he could find on the streets of London. Despite his innocuous appearance, people continued to eye him warily for several minutes before they finally convinced themselves he wasn't a threat.

A porcelin mug was set in front of him with a _clack_ and Kakashi passed his money to the server, who eyed him suspiciously and didn't return any change.

"You're not from around here, boy," the man said, dark eyes squinted under a balding head of stringy white hair. "What are you doing in town?"

"Visiting family," Kakashi said.

The man looked even more suspicious, "Who?"

"My aunt, Silva Handel," Kakashi said, "She's been dead for over ten years, but I like to visit when I can."

The man continued to leer at him suspiciously, "You've been through here before, then?"

"Yes, sir," Kakashi said, "Although, it was four years ago, before I attended university. The town's changed; what happened?"

The man looked around shiftily for a moment. "Never mind that, boy, just see to it that you don't stay too long. If you have any kind of head on those shoulders you'll leave straight away without asking questions."

"I was hoping to stay the night, at least," Kakashi said, frowning. "I wanted to tell Aunt Silva that I graduated—after all, it's because of her that I atteneded university at all. Isn't the inn open?"

"It shut down about two years ago, boy," the man replied, "And you ought to leave well before dark." He seemed to be loosening up, so Kakashi pushed for more.

The Jounin frowned, his face a perfect picture of innocent confusion. "Why?"

The man glanced around anxiously again and leaned over the counter. "Kid… I really shouldn't be telling you this… and you probably won't believe me, but this town is haunted."

Kakashi stared at the man dryly. "Really," he said. He'd never believed in the existence of spirits and ghosts, and he let that show through in his piecework character.

The man's face reddened. "I know it sounds ridiculous, boy, but it's true! Everyone's seen it: things you can't quite look at flying overhead at night, strange and horrible sounds coming from the direction of the graveyard, things going missing all around town and even people disappearing every now and then!

"Best guess is that it's centered around the old Riddle Manor, up and past the graveyard," the man added conspiratorially, "They've been dead for fifty years now, and the house has always been empty, but recently people have been seeing lights in the windows and hearing voices and such."

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, "If it's that bad, why don't you leave?"

The man shrugged, "Ain't got anywhere to go. That shouldn't stop you, though. Leave town first chance you get, boy."

Shrugging, Kakashi stood. He drained his mug in one breath and set it empty on the counter again. "Thanks for the advice, old man, but I can't leave without seeing Aunt Silva after coming this far. I'll try not to stay long."

* * *

"You're sure he's there?" Dumbledore pressed.

"I didn't see anyone," Kakashi drawled in reply, "I couldn't even get near the house. I hid near the grounds overnight, though, and there were Dementors in the sky. Something else, too—possibly human—they were too far to make out clearly. If Voldemort isn't in that house, then something related to him is."

"I see," Dumbledore said grimly.

"Do you plan to stage an attack?"

"Not just yet," Dumbledore replied, "There's someone I want you to talk to, first. I assume you're capable of extracting information from even very stubborn men?"

Kakashi frowned. "Interrogation is not my specialty, but I have some experience." Jounin were required to have at least minimal experience in every branch of shinobi skills.

"Good," Dumbledore said, "I don't condone torture, of course, but there's no reason to waste time. It's been difficult to track him down, but I believe I know where he is now—"

"You should look ahead to where he will be in one week," Kakashi said, "After all, I already completed your mission. It's my week off."

The wizard frowned, "It didn't take you a week to check the house."

"I never said I would give you a week," Kakashi countered, "Only that I would do work for you and travel for a week in between."

For a moment he thought Dumbledore would argue; the wizard didn't seem to like it when Kakashi had the upper hand in anything. Kakashi imagined he'd be quite upset if he ever realized just how much the Jounin kept to himself.

But Dumbledore only sighed. "Very well, Kakashi. I will keep tabs on Horrace and you will continue your search. I expect you'll be ready to work again when you return."

Kakashi said nothing. If all went well, he would never report to a wizard again. He reached into a pocket and pulled out the small silver coin Dumbledore had given him. In an instant, he was gone.

* * *

The castle was brimming with excited students as the changing of months rolled around. As Harry understood it, it was because Gryffindor house would be battling the Hufflepuffs over the weekend. They two houses had been exchanging nasty comments and battle cries all week.

"It's not a _fight_, Harry," Hermione said disapprovingly when Harry mentioned, over a festive Halloween dinner, that he thought setting the houses against each other like that was stupid. "It's just a Quidditch match."

"First one of the season," Ron added cheerfully, reaching right across Harry to snatch a small, orange frosted cake from a large pile. "And me, I'll be right up there in the middle of it all—can you imagine? We couldn't have gotten a better match up for the first game, either. No matter what Oliver says, this will be an easy win!"

"The entire school will be there," Seamus added, "It's one of the biggest events of the year!"

Harry nodded thoughtfully, "The staff, too?" With luck, he'd have the library to himself and could get down to some serious studying.

"You're not going to try to get into the restricted section again, are you?" Hermione asked, frowning at him.

"Of course not, Hermione," Harry said, knowing she wouldn't believe him. He didn't need a Quidditch game to access the restricted section of the library; he'd found his way in several weeks ago already and routinely paid nocturnal visits to the dark books stored upon its shelves.

Ron looked at him in abject horror. "The library!" He repeated, "We're talking about Quidditch and you're worried about the library?! C'mon, Harry, you've _got_ to watch us!"

"I'll admit it's an interesting game," Harry said, "But it _is_ only a game and I'm not going to waste an entire day watching you guys play. Didn't you say official matches go on for hours?"

"Yeah, but it's a matter of house pride!" Ron exclaimed.

Harry shrugged off the sentiment and picked up one of the small cakes for himself, examining it momentarily. "What are these called, again?" He asked Hermione.

The girl frowned, "Haven't you had cupcakes before?"

The Genin shrugged again and took a bite.

* * *

Kakashi burst into Dumbledore's office on Friday afternoon with the fury of Hell in him. His uncovered eye blazed as he threw the heavy desk out of his path, upturning it and sending it skidding across the floor. Papers flew everywhere and Fawkes gave an unhappy _rawk_ in his corner. Dumbledore rose to his feet, frowning.

"Kakashi," the old wizard started, but he never finished, falling silent under the full assault of the young man's anger.

Kakashi held himself back, stopping short of actually touching the wizard. His hands were tight fists at his sides and his head thrummed with angry blood. Still, his voice came out cool and calm when he spoke.

"You knew," Kakashi accused coldly, "You knew there would be nothing to find!"

It took a moment for Dumbledore's voice to work, and when it did his words sounded much feebler than he'd anticipated. "N-nonsense, Kakashi."

The Jounin grabbed the front of the wizard's robes and jerked him forward roughtly, poising a kunai at the hollow of his throat. His eyes—because somehow, in the instant between when he'd stood empty-handed and grabbed the old man, he'd shoved up his hitai-ate—shone with the barely restrained instinct to kill those who threatened him or his comrades.

"You know how we can get back to Konoha, but you keep us here! You _brought_ us here in the first place! I would be doing a service to my village if I killed you here."

Dumbledore managed a weak smile, "Then kill me, Kakashi… but you and your brother will never get home if you do. You know this."

Kakashi's body tensed and the kunai at the man's neck drew blood.

For a moment, Dumbledore thought the child in front of him _would_ kill him. For a moment he _knew_ he would; he'd pushed the boys too far and would reap what he had sown. For a moment, the wizard had resigned himself to death—he wouldn't even do anything to try to prevent it.

Then Kakashi shoved him away again. The wizard stumbled backwards and fell into his chair, both he and the chair falling to the floor. Kakashi watched dispassionately as the old man struggled for a moment to pick himself up, his breathing harsh.

"I'll take Harii," Kakashi said coldly, "We'll leave. You won't gain anything else from keeping us locked up here."

"Where will you go?" Dumbledore asked, rasping a little. He put a hand on his chest, closing his eyes at the pain racking his body from the deep wound he still bore, aggravated by Kakashi's assault.

"Anywhere," Kakashi said blithely, "We are shinobi, we can live wherever we choose." He paused, eyeing the weak old man with disdain. "Maybe… I'll take him up to Riddle Manor. Maybe we should help Voldemort-san destroy your kind."

Dumbledore shot the younger man a sharp look. "You wouldn't. I am sure even you have more decency than that, Kakashi Hatake. You know the many innocents that would be hurt if you chose to punish me in such a way."

"You don't know me at all."

"Perhaps…" Dumbledore's blue eyes peered up at him, far too knowing for the Jounin's comfort. "But… I did know your father, and if any part of you is still his son, then I know the honor in your veins."

"I don't want to hear _you_ talk about my father," Kakashi snapped with a little more venom than he'd meant to allow through. "I am not my father, Dumbledore-san, and I'll do whatever it takes to ensure that Harii and I are returned to Konoha—soon."

He turned on his heel and walked swiftly from the office, slamming through the doors with a _bang_ and enough force to break one of the hinges. The door slumped pathetically in his wake and a heavy silence filled the Headmaster's office.

* * *

There were gasps and shouts and exclamations of surprise when a decidedly non-Gryffindor stepped through the portrait hole. The malicious aura he carried with him kept the majority of students at bay, watching warily as he looked around the room briefly, his entire face hidden by a fearsome white mask.

"… Isn't that the man who interrupted the feast?" Hermione whispered across the table to Harry.

The boy looked up in surprise. He'd felt his brother's approach, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he hadn't imagined the Jounin would let so many students see them together.

A seventh year boy—the one wearing the shiny badge that identified him as Head Boy—pushed through the gawking students to approach the man. He looked a little pale, and this flaming red hair made Harry guess it was another one of Ron's brothers. Had he mentioned something like that about the Head Boy?

"Excuse me," his voice seemed loud in the quiet room and he almost floundered when the ANBU's fierce mask turned towards him. Still, Gryffindors weren't known for their bravery for nothing. His hand twitched, but he seemed to think better of going for his wand. Harry thought this brother might be a bit more intelligent than the others.

"You're not allowed to be here—Gryffindors only," his voice shook a little.

The man stared at him for a very long moment before annunciating, with a horrible accent, "I don't speak English." He brushed past the surprised seventh year, making straight for the table Harry sat at with Hermione.

Harry hesitated only a moment longer before jumping to his feet and moving to meet him. The language switch had gotten much easier, and it took almost no effort for him to speak in his village's native language, playing along with the Jounin's lie. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"We need to talk," Kakashi responded in like, "Our plans have changed; we're leaving and Dumbledore is going to help us."

"You convinced him?" Harry asked in surprise. He glanced around. "Come on, we'll talk in the dorm."

The Head Boy caught him on the way to the staircase. "Harry," he said sternly, still eyeing the stranger warily, "What's going on?"

"Tell McGonagall if you want," Harry said, "But he's an exception to the rule and you don't want to try to stop him yourself."

"But who _is_ he?" The boy persisted.

Harry pulled out of the hold on his arm and shrugged. "He's my brother," he said before hurrying up the staircase.

It was still early enough that the dorm room was empty. Ron, he knew, was out practicing with the Quidditch team for their big match tomorrow. He imagined the others were still down in the Common Room or the library somewhere. He shut the door behind them as the noise downstairs began to swell again.

"So, what is it?" Harry asked, tuning to find Kakashi looking around the room with interest. "What's happened?"

"It's more like what hasn't happened," the young man said grumpily, turning to face him again.

"You didn't find the way back," Harry guessed.

"But I do know how to get back," Kakashi said. "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but it's the only practical option left to us."

"Dumbledore isn't going to just let us go," Harry said.

"If it's a choice between the safety of his students and that, he will."

Harry stared at him in surprise. A shinobi who went around bullying civilians was considered among the lowest of the low. Even threatening such weak people was looked down upon. It wasn't really bullying in this case since the civilians had been the ones to instigate the violence, Harry thought, and wizards weren't exactly as helpless as normal civilians. Still, Harry was surprised.

"Can you stand by me in this?" Kakashi demanded, his dark eye boring straight into his brother's.

Harry hesitated, "The students didn't do anything…"

"Hopefully Dumbledore will realize we're serious without any of them being killed," Kakashi agreed, "But we have to be willing to use that kind of force if necessary." He frowned at Harry for a moment and added, "I don't expect you to kill anyone. You just need to back me up. Students will probably be hurt, either way, and I need to know you can fight against the children and the faculty if necessary. Can you do it, Harii?"

Harry hesitated again before nodding sharply. "If it's the only way to get home." He'd made something like friends here, but if it was a choice between them and Tenzou, Naruto, and everyone back home… Harry didn't even have to think about it.

"It's the only way," Kakashi assured him grimly.


	14. Battleground Hogwarts

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter.

Thanks for all of your comments and reviews, they encourage me a lot and it really energizes me to write even more when I see how excited you all are about the story. Anyway, I know you don't really want to hear me going on about mundane things, so I'll be brief and send you straight to chapter fourteen! Enjoy!

Chapter 14 – Battleground: Hogwarts

It was with much trepidation that Sarutobi stood before the locked shack near the far edges of the Uchiha Complex. There was a knock from the inside and the guard—a fourteen-year-old Uchiha that Sarutobi recognized as a new member of the MP—unlocked the door.

An old woman stepped out, her face heavy with wrinkles and lines. Despite her age, she wore the standard uniform of the medical corps, and bowed briefly to the Hokage before moving on.

Sarutobi didn't need prompting. He took a deep breath and slid the door open, stepping inside the small room. It was dark inside and the Sandaime paused, giving his eyes the moment they needed to adjust, although he could have maneuvered just as well in the dark.

Slowly, shapes began to form and Sarutobi's eyes fell on the young man seated motionlessly on a futon by the far wall. He moved across the room slowly and eased down to sit on the cushion placed in front of the man's bed.

He sat for a time in silence, watching the young man he had doomed. The Uchiha didn't seem to have noticed him yet, or if he did, he was ignoring him, staring blankly at the wall before him. At last, Sarutobi spoke.

"Ryoga..."

It took longer than it should have for the man to react to his name. Slowly, the head turned to face him, dark eyes looking at him, murky and without comprehension.

"Ryoga, do you know who I am?"

The man stared at him silently for a long time. So long that Sarutobi began to wonder if he knew how to speak. But, keeping the medical report he'd read in mind, he continued to wait.

"... Do you know who I am...?" The man repeated in a slow, slurred voice.

Despite the report, Sarutobi couldn't help but be surprised. Ryoga had once been among their brightest, and he'd certainly had plenty of potential. To see what he'd been reduced to woke a sort of sympathetic disgust in the Sandaime Hokage. Ryoga would not have wanted to live like this.

"Ryoga," he addressed the man again, "I know you're in there somewhere." He spoke slowly, hoping his words would find their way through the man's injured brain. "You need to remember, Ryoga. What happened in those mountains? What happened to Matsuro?"

"... Matsuro..."

"Yes, do you remember him?" Sarutobi prodded. The medics had said they couldn't get any information from him, but the Sandaime wasn't ready to give up. He had to at least know what happened. He had to at least try to get the story. "Can you remember what happened to him?"

"..." Ryoga's expression seemed to suggest he was thinking very hard. Sarutobi waited anxiously, hardly daring to hope for the breakthrough he desperately needed.

"... Can... can you remember... what happened?"

Sarutobi released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in a whoosh of disappointment. It seemed that Uchiha Ryoga was beyond help now. Still, he had to try one last time.

"Ryoga... tell me, did you find a way through? Did you find Kakashi?"

Another long silence followed his words. Sarutobi could have sworn he saw a flash of intelligence, some understanding in those dark eyes. But, again, he was disappointed when all Ryoga said was, "Kakashi..."

With a sigh, the old man stood, feeling tired despite the lack of physical exertion. "It's alright, Ryuga. Rest for now."

"... Rest," Ryoga repeated in his slow, drawling speech. Just as slowly, he turned his head back towards the wall.

Sarutobi watched and was convinced that somewhere, deep inside, Ryoga understood what was being said to him. Only it was in a place that they couldn't reach. A place even Ryoga couldn't reach anymore, maybe.

With a second sigh, Sarutobi turned and walked slowly from the room.

Uchiha Fugaku stood waiting for him, stern-faced and rigid. His slight bow of acknowledgement was stiff, and he couldn't mask the resentment in his eyes from the Hokage.

"... It is as the reports claimed," the older man acknowledged carefully, refusing to allow the other man to see his own regret—the guilt he felt at allowing this to happen. Every person in the village was precious to him; even those with dubious loyalties, such as the Uchiha clan.

"He has a family," Fugaku said stiffly. Sarutobi wondered whether the younger man actually believed he'd forgotten.

"His wife and child will be compensated, of course," the Sandaime said simply.

Fugaku nodded sharply. "And what should we do with him?"

It was a question not to be answered thoughtlessly. On the one hand, Ryoga was potentially dangerous to the village in his present state. His chakra was as strong as ever, and it wouldn't be impossible for him to hurt or kill those around him by accident. In addition, the Uchiha had reached the full maturity of his Sharingan. Without his knowledge and skill to aid him, it would be easy for outsiders to capture or kill him for his eyes. And, of course, there was the degrading situation itself. Ryoga could hardly dress himself; he was nearly a vegetable. No shinobi would want to exist like that. Ryoga, Sarutobi was sure, would prefer death.

Still, there was valuable information inside his head, somewhere. And for one who had been so loyal, it seemed a crime to give up on him so quickly. He'd been returned to the village only a few days ago, handed over by the Suna-nin who found him, after being absent for nearly two months. And already Fugaku pushed for his death.

"Keep him alive for the time being," Sarutobi said at length, "Medics will continue to visit daily—unless you'd rather move him to the hospital. Perhaps he will surprise us and begin to recover, but at the very least I'd like to give Inoichi a chance to examine him."

"We will keep him here," Fugaku said. His eyes were almost challenging as he added, "He is an Uchiha, after all."

"... Yes, he is," Sarutobi agreed calmly before turning to leave.

* * *

All around him the students cheered. Gryffindor had made the first score of the game and despite the cold weather, spirits were high as they enjoyed their favorite pastime.

Harry cringed as a girl behind him screamed out her love for Oliver Wood when the keeper blocked the Quaffle from his goal. Harry's eyes weren't on the game, but rather on the staff box at the North end of the field.

His nerves were buzzing with anticipation and his mind was torn. Whatever he'd told Kakashi, and whatever he thought he needed to do, he still didn't want his new friends to be caught up in a battle that had nothing to do with them.

A bird flew into the air from somewhere beyond the other side of the stadium and Harry's eyes narrowed. There was nothing particularly special about the bird's appearance. It was some strain of sparrow, Harry guessed. For all he knew, it could be a random fluke. Except that was the signal and he couldn't assume otherwise.

The Genin took a deep breath, pushed his insecurities from his mind, and formed a brief set of hand seals. Stopping with the Ram, Harry released his chakra.

The stadium shook and screams and shouts sounded in every corner as Harry's explosion tags went off at pivotal locations around the stadium. Stairways were blocked with rubble and a section of the stands near the Hufflepuff goals collapsed completely, raining debris onto the field.

"Everyone—please remain calm!" Professor McGonagall's voice could be heard over even the sounds of terrified students when she grabbed Lee Jordan's mic. "Do not panic!"

Harry had spent most of the night studying with his brother in the forest to learn _that_ particular spell. He raised his wand and pointed it at his own throat, giving the end a tiny swish. "_Sonorus,_" he muttered, and the next time he opened his mouth, his voice boomed over the field, "Students should remain in their seats and all Quidditch team members should return to the field and step away from their brooms."

The only response was a roar of noise and confusion.

"Harry?" Hermione questioned at his side, "What's going on?"

Harry ignored her and pulled out a kunai. He aimed at the broomstick of one of the Hufflepuff chasers—currently the player closest to the ground. His blade struck true and the broom dived out of control as half the tail was severed.

"Quidditch players get on the field—now!" He snapped over the frightened shouts of other students.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed in alarm, grabbing the boy's arm. "What are you doing?!"

"You wouldn't understand," Harry said coolly, "If you don't want to be made into the next example, let go."

Wide-eyed, the girl stumbled away from him.

"He's gone mad," Dean Thomas said somewhere in the row behind him.

Harry was about to aim a second kunai at the still airborne portion of the Quidditch teams, but Dumbledore's voice rang over the confused students.

* * *

Whatever it was that prevented him from using chakra to scale the castle, the effect didn't reach to the Quidditch stadium. Kakashi easily scaled the side of it as the bird he'd captured took flight.

He clung to the wooden frame as it rattled with the force of the ensuing explosions. Then he vaulted over the railing.

He'd planned meticulously and knew just what to do. Before anyone even realized he was there, Snape was unconscious in his arms, his kunai poised to kill in an instant.

"Put your wands on the floor," Kakashi demanded even as the students erupted into chaos all around the stadium.

"What are you doing?" Dumbledore snapped.

Kakashi smiled under his mask. He'd finally found his way under the aloof man's skin. He'd made him angry, and that would make him careless. This could work.

"Killing your spy," he said calmly, "Unless you cooperate." He was sure Dumbledore knew how he'd threatened the man in the past, and the old wizard certainly knew they'd practically been at each other's throats since they first met—although Kakashi had done most of the wringing. Dumbledore would have to know that this was not an idle threat. Kakashi wouldn't be sorry at all to see Snape dead.

After a moment, Dumbledore nodded to his other faculty. Slowly, they removed their wands, placing them on the floor at their feet.

Harry's voice rang loud over the stadium and Kakashi almost cringed. The Genin sounded as though he was offering suggestions at a tea party, not presenting demands to several hundred hostages.

"What are you doing, Kakashi?" Dumbledore asked again, barely restrained anger resonating in his voice, "Do you really expect to gain anything from this?"

"I expect to gain everything from this," Kakashi retorted calmly.

There were gasps and screaming everywhere.

"Headmaster, the students!" One of the staff, a round-faced woman in the front row of the box, exclaimed, pointing as a student fell out of the sky on a malfunctioning broom.

The boy hit the ground and didn't get up.

"He probably isn't dead," Kakashi offered—it wouldn't do any good to work the staff into a desperate frenzy before he was ready for it. "I don't think Harii would have chosen him if the fall would have killed him."

"Kakashi!" The old wizard snapped again, "Stop this madness! Are you going to make him kill his own classmates?"

"I'm not making him do anything," Kakashi said coldly, "He might end up killing the next one, though, if they don't listen to him."

Dumbledore looked over the field, at his students in the air and on the ground. Most of the Hufflepuff team was on the field, worrying over their injured—possibly dead—teammate. As for the others, they were beginning to overcome their surprise, and some were becoming angry rather than afraid—among his Gryffindors particularly. It was only a matter of time before they acted.

The old wizard could see the foolishness of any clumsy attempts at fighting back his students might provide. In the best case, they might be able to injure Harry, but that was only likely to anger him if he was more like his brother than Dumbledore had anticipated. It was far more likely that Harry would be fine and the other students would be hurt—or worse.

"Let me talk to them," he said, resignation in his voice.

Kakashi peered at him suspiciously for a long moment before nodding.

Dumbledore stooped for his wand. He could have attacked Kakashi then. He was sure the ninja still didn't realize the extent to which magic could be used offensively, but Harry was too far away for him to control his reaction, and in the meantime his students were in danger. So he raised his wand to his own throat.

"Students," his voice bellowed over the stadium. "I am sorry to announce that today's Quidditch game has been canceled. Please do as Mr. Hatake has said—teams land on the field and spectators remain calmly in your seats. Thank you."

He didn't wait to even draw a breath before flipping the wand around and casting silently.

Kakashi was thrown backwards, breaking through the box railing and off the side of the stadium as his weapon jumped in the other direction and Snape's flying body was cushioned by Lupin. He didn't even have time to ask whether Severus was alright before a force hit him from behind—Kakashi had somehow caught the wall and propelled himself at the old man, both feet first.

"Stupefy!" The spell came from the tiny Charms professor, Flitwick, who had reacted first. It was closely followed by a "Petrificus Totalus!" from Lupin and a few shouts of "Expelliarmus!" from others among the staff.

In a puff of smoke their target was no longer where he had been standing. A strangled scream issued from Vector, the tall, dark-haired Arithmancy teacher. Her wand fell from nerveless fingers, blood quickly soaking her arm from a deep wound on her shoulder, where a knife had been driven all the way through the limb. The woman's face was pale and sweaty, eyes dilated in shock.

For the first time in a very long time, Dumbledore felt as though he might be capable of using the Unforgivables.

* * *

Harry squinted at the staff box. It was difficult to follow the action—especially with Kakashi flitting around the way he was. He hadn't given the second signal—Harry wondered whether he should move on with the plan without it.

"Harry!" Hermione pulled persistently at his arm, "What's going on? Are you... I mean, you know what it is, don't you!"

Harry ignored her, as he had been for the last three minutes. His natural adrenaline was beginning to wear down and he had to stay alert. He may be needed to act at any moment.

"You're in league with the Death Eaters, aren't you?" A loud voice shouted above the confused murmur of students around Harry. "You and that masked brother of yours!"

It was all the warning Harry had before the first spell was thrown at him.

Harry ducked out of the way just in time and Hermione screamed, along with a number of students around them. Neville shouted in dismay and Harry saw him fall over out of the corner of his eye, hit by the same spell that had been meant for the Genin.

It seemed it was time to move on with the plan even without his brother's signal.

The Genin leaped into the air as another spell hit an unfortunate student who'd been standing too close to him—the boy clutched his face with a shout of pain. Harry threw several small, black canisters into the mass, and they instantly exploded with smoke.

It was thick and black and there was coughing and shouting and more confusion than ever as it enveloped the entire Gryffindor portion of the student body, hanging heavily in the air around them.

Harry twisted in midair, turning his body to swing away from the mass and catch hold of the edge of the stadium, using his chakra to cling to it. The heavy smoke was already beginning to pour down the sides and Harry held his breath as he began to run around the interior wall of the stadium, tossing smoke bombs over the side into the frightened masses of students where necessary.

Ever since he was seven years old, Harry had been trained to calculate angles, speeds, and trajectories in his head and he did them almost instantly. He'd learned to make his body provide the force necessary to perform the solution of those calculations, whether it was more or less than he was used to using. So it was an easy feat for Harry to vault off the edge of the stadium wall and into the smoke-choked bleachers, directly on the bench in front of which Draco Malfoy stood.

The blond was coughing and cursing, but Harry made no effort to carry his voice over the noise of the students when he spoke.

"Hello, Malfoy."

He could almost feel the other boy stiffen as he abruptly went silent, and Harry could certainly sense the fear rolling off of him in heavy waves. The self-centered brat probably imagined this whole event had been concocted for the sole purpose of extracting revenge on him. Harry didn't plan to do anything to dissuade him of those beliefs.

The Genin grabbed the other boy roughly by the back of his robes. Malfoy let out a high, piercing shriek that made Harry wince. Then he leaped again, towards the higher, outside wall of the stadium, the ungainly blond in tow.

Malfoy felt light for his size, Harry thought, and he imagined the wizard student had much less muscle weight than the other boys Harry was accustomed to dragging around. It just made his job easier.

Harry slipped his arm from Malfoy's back to ring around his arm and front, pinning the boy securely to his chest once they'd safely alighted on the narrow railing.

"Wha... wha... what are you going to do?" Malfoy managed to squeak out, suddenly going still in Harry's grip as he noticed their precarious perch above the field.

Harry smirked under his cloth mask and replied, so softly that even with Malfoy held against him, the other boy would barely hear over the noise of his classmates. "I'm going to enjoy this."

* * *

The wizards were distracted when a sharp scream cut over the muddled cacophony of hundreds of frightened students, and Kakashi used the opportunity to smack the diminutive Charms professor on the back of the head. The short wizard had proved a surprisingly difficult opponent, despite his size, and had caught one of Kakashi's arms in a rope seconds earlier.

The Jounin rid himself from the remaining strands of rope on his appendage as he glanced around. Except for the box he was fighting the staff in, the entire stadium was filled with a heavy—and pungent, Kakashi knew from experience—smoke. He smirked as he spotted Harry, his chakra bright amongst the stadium full of civilians.

"Is that—" Sprout broke off, staring, wide-eyed and pale.

"That's your first mortality," Kakashi said coldly, casting a look back at Dumbledore. The aged wizard was balancing his weight carefully because of a shruiken Kakashi had hit him with earlier. "If you don't give us what we need."

"You will be very sorry if any of my students are hurt, Kakashi," the Headmaster growled.

"We're leaving one way or another," Kakashi said, "This is your last chance to cut your losses and help us, because if we're running, we're taking some of you with us."

The spell the wizard threw at him was a wicked, bright red that Kakashi barely dodged. The Jounin's eyes narrowed.

If Dumbledore had been able to somehow protect the students of his school from him and Harry, his defiance would undoubtedly be admirable. But as it was, he could hardly believe that the wizard was so cold-hearted that he would throw away the lives of his students just to keep them imprisoned here. If Dumbledore cared nothing for those under him, then there was no reason for him to keep Harry here, other than spite, but if Dumbledore _did_ care, then his current actions were contradictory to his projected character.

The young man's will hardened. If it was a slaughter that Dumbledore wanted, then he'd give it to him. He'd be the villain the wizard seemed to want to face. He'd tried his hand at being reasonable, but it was impossible, and empty threats would only give the wizards the wrong impression.

There was a burst of smoke and Kakashi was gone. Dumbledore and his remaining conscious teachers looked around wildly, in every conceivable direction, but Kakashi was on the other side of the stadium, beside Harry.

"What did they say?" Harry asked, consciously using his brother's native language so as to further unnerve the boy he held prisoner.

Kakashi's tone was grim, "He doesn't care what happens to them."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, "Really?"

"If it's a bluff, I can't tell," Kakashi shrugged.

"So we're going through with it?" Harry pressed.

Kakashi nodded, "It's either that or let the wizards think they can push us around without consequence." The man hesitated, then looked pointedly at his brother's captive, "What's with him?"

Harry grinned viciously, his eyes curving just slightly, "He's the reason everyone knows who I am."

The man nodded again, "I'll let you do what you want to him, then." His fingers flashed expertly through a string of seals and an instant later there were two additional Kakashi's standing beside him, both moving for their weapons.

"I'm going to go back to deal with Dumbledore. If he won't help us, I'll make sure he can't hurt our village again."

Harry nodded his understanding, but his brother was gone before the action was complete.

"Remember, this has to be a lesson they'll be slow to forget," one of Kakashi's clones said before they both took off.

"Well, Malfoy," Harry turned back to his captive, "Looks like this is it. If you make it to an afterlife, tell them who sent you—you'll be my first."

The Slytherin stank horribly of fear—and, quite possibly, urine, Harry wasn't sure. The young nin withdrew his blade and, before the Slytherin could agonize over his fate any further, stabbed it into the boy's gut.

Malfoy made a horrible gasping choke, his eyes wide with shock and fear, and Harry couldn't breathe even after he'd released the other boy's body to fall back into the bleachers. It took him a moment to tear his mind away from the idea that Malfoy might actually die, and the image of his convoluted face, but he did tear it away with effort. One student really wouldn't make a big impression in the grand scheme of things.

* * *

Kakashi grabbed hold of the wall the moment he solidified again outside the staff box. He threw himself over the edge a second time and wasted no time incapacitating Sprout, who happened to be looking in the other direction, face pale and eyes cloudy.

He hardly even registered the spells being thrown at him. He ducked, jumped, and dodged the rays of light that flew towards him, striking back when he could, slowly closing the distance between himself and Dumbledore.

He feinted towards Lupin, who was still on his feet and making his stand near the older wizard, but Kakashi doubled back behind him, his sword thrusting out.

Dumbledore just barely missed being impaled and Kakashi twisted his wrist, slicing the sword back towards the wizard. This time he wasn't able to avoid the attack, and the blade sliced deep into his side, cutting up until it hit the bottom of his rib cage and stopped.

Kakashi didn't have time to attempt to remove it, because the sudden pain in his back told him he'd ignored the other wizards for an instant too long. He spun, pushing the pain out of his mind, and raised his kunai to attack, only partially aware of the old wizard collapsing at his side.

Lupin's face was a mask of fury and the Astronomy teacher's eyes were sharp and angry. Kakashi would have the time to take them both out, though, he was sure. His weapons were already in his hands and he didn't need an incantation.

A force at his back had Kakashi falling forward.

* * *

Another explosion shook the stadium—Harry could see a displaced cloud of smoke in the Ravenclaw seating. One of Kakashi's clones must be using explosion tags, he realized. Harry cringed, even if the tag wasn't very powerful, it would still cause a large number of casualties in a place packed so full of bodies.

Harry formed a string of hand seals, and was about to release it in the form of dozens of hurtling clumps of rock and dirt when a figure shot up out of the smoke that had gathered in the field. He was still staring when a jet of light shot from the form at one of the Kakashi clones terrorizing the Hufflepuffs.

The clone was hit, but didn't seem to have been bothered by the attack—at least, it didn't release itself. Frowning, Harry realized that the students from the Quidditch teams were still his biggest threats, if they joined the fight together, they might be able to outmaneuver him and force him into a corner.

Quickly, the Genin shifted his aim, and threw the jutsu into the field instead, just as the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, and at least a portion of the Hufflepuff Team, soared up through the smoke. They were met with the dangerous, speeding projectiles, and a number of them were knocked back down, flailing as they lost control of their brooms or fell off of them completely, plummeting uncontrollably to the ground.

The others were quick to turn their attention on him. Harry quickly began to form seals again, but was forced to abort the string before his jutsu was complete, diving out of the way of a jet of light.

"Stop!" Dumbledore's voice was harsh and strained, but loud enough to give the man pause.

"Sirius?" Lupin's voice was filled with disbelief as he stared at the newly arrived man.

"No time for explanations, Moony," the thin, unkempt man threw back, "It seems that you've got problems—what do you want me to do with the Death Eater, Professor?" He glanced at Dumbledore over his shoulder, his sunken eyes creased with concern.

"Don't... don't kill him," Dumbledore rasped.

"He's not a Death Eater," Lupin added grimly, "But, likewise, there's no time for explanations. We have to stop the others."

Sirius grimaced, looking across at the chaos over the Quidditch stadium. Three additional figures seemed to be in league with the one he'd knocked out, and the Quidditch teams had arrived on the scene to gather against two of them. They didn't seem to be doing all that well.

"Aurora," Lupin snapped, turning to the one remaining staff member, "Keep watch over Dumbledore." He glanced back at Sirius, "I want an explanation later, but for now, we have students to protect."

* * *

Unable to find the time to form seals for a jutsu, Harry relied heavily on kunai and shuriken to take down the persistent Quidditch players. He'd hit one in the shoulder, and he'd cleaved the handle of another's broom right in half, but he was beginning to realize he had another problem.

The smoke from his bombs was beginning to dissipate. Across the stadium, one of the clones was being attacked on two fronts—the Quidditch team from the sky and the Gryffindors near the top of the stands.

Harry didn't see what hit him, but the clone disappeared in a puff of smoke a moment later, so he assumed something must have happened. Harry threw a handful of Shuriken at a particularly brave group of Slytherins before scanning the stadium again—he couldn't see Kakashi's other clone, either.

The Genin frowned—had they gotten _both_ of them? He was hardly a match for Kakashi's clones, could a group of civilians, no matter how vast, really take him down? Harry didn't have time to think about it further, because he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and only just managed to jump out of the way of a spell.

The boy turned to stare in surprise at his attacker. Lupin was standing on the upper most level of stadium seating, the students giving him plenty of room. His wand was out and his eyes pointed squarely at Harry.

"You can stop now, Harry," the man called out to him when he saw he had his attention, "Your brother's knocked out, you can't run away."

Harry thought about retorting that of course he could. He didn't need Kakashi to make a getaway. But, on the other hand, he couldn't leave Kakashi there alone. They'd probably kill him; he wasn't the one they needed.

Still, he was being underestimated. If they'd really taken out Kakashi, they'd be worn out and tired already. He still had a chance of winning. All he had to do was get to Kakashi—he'd carry him if he needed to.

Without saying a word, Harry let his kunai fly. The range was too great, though, and his weapons didn't move fast enough, the wizard was able to knock them out of the air with a spell. Harry gritted his teeth. Long range attacks wouldn't work, then, he'd need to get close.

Dodging another spell, Harry burst forward, digging out some more weapons.

Lupin was one of the few among the staff that Harry more or less respected. The man had been kind to him since he'd arrived, at least, and had seemed understanding of his plight. But if Lupin stood between him and his brother, then Harry didn't have a choice. He'd take him out, one way or another.

The spell came from directly behind him. Harry didn't see who cast it, and he wasn't able to shake off the effects. He hit the floor hard, skidding uncontrollably to a stop, his limbs frozen exactly as they had been when he'd been hit, a kunai still half-drawn in his hand.

Lupin approached him carefully and Harry pretended he couldn't see the spiteful looks of angry students all around him.

"This is...!" Harry couldn't see the man's face, but whoever was standing behind him sounded shocked.

Lupin sighed, smiling tiredly. "Explanations later," he said, "We need to see who's the most seriously injured and get them to Madam Pomfrey right away. We should call in help from St. Mungo's, too—tell Professor McGonagall."

There was a moment of silence before a reluctant, "... You're right... but I want an explanation later."

* * *

Harry felt stiff and sore when he came to. For an instant he panicked—he could feel constricting rope tied around him, and felt keenly the absence of his weapon pouches—and then his eyes focused on the room around him.

It was a small, stone-walled room with a large, barred window that let plenty of light through. There was a heavy wooden door in the wall only a short distance away. It was impossibly far from where he lay, tied. His eyes traveled further to land on the figure slouched beside his bed. It wasn't one he recognized and Harry tensed further. Was it an interrogator? But the wizards knew what they wanted—so maybe a member of the police force.

The man's sunken cheeks, shadowed eyes, stubby beard and unkempt hair seemed to suggest otherwise. If he was a police officer, Harry had never seen one so unprofessional looking. The man blinked and shook slightly, eyes refocusing as if seeing for the first time.

He started to smile, but the motion was quickly aborted, his forehead wrinkling into a frown.

"... Are you alright, Harry?" He asked at last.

Harry doubted the man really cared, but he made a show of releasing a ragged breath. "What's with the ropes?" He croaked out, "I can't breathe!"

A shadowed smile crossed the man's thin lips, although the mirth didn't reach his eyes. "I've been warned about you, you know. And I checked the ropes myself, earlier. They aren't that tight."

Harry dropped the pretense. With a little more space to work, he could have gotten out easily. As it was, it would take a bit more time, and it would be very hard to do if the man watched him the whole time.

The man's smile disappeared again and he sighed heavily. "The student you... Draco isn't dead. We got to him in time, if you care."

Harry blinked in surprise, he'd almost forgotten about Malfoy, but now that the man mentioned it, his chest felt a little lighter. He hated the other boy like he hated very few people, but he'd never killed anyone before, and he certainly didn't want to kill a helpless kid in cold blood.

"Was anyone...?" Harry trailed off uncertainly. He knew he shouldn't care if someone was killed, but he hadn't counted on being around for the aftermath. If he was still stuck here, he didn't want to have to deal with the guilt of someone's death hanging over him.

"No," the man replied, "We managed to get medical attention around in time. Draco's still in the hospital, though, as is Professor Dumbledore and a number of other students and staff members."

Harry didn't say anything. He was a little surprised, with the way Madam Pomfrey could heal, that anyone was still in the infirmary. He supposed magic could only do so much, like medical jutsu.

The man stared at him in silence for a long moment before shaking his head and standing. He started for the door, but turned back around abruptly, frowning down at the bed-ridden boy.

"What made you think it was alright to attack helpless students like that!" He blurted angrily, "Do you think it's cool to hurt people who can't defend themselves from you? Did you really think it was okay to kill _children_ just to get what you wanted? Were you raised in such a selfish way!"

"_I'm_ selfish?" Harry repeated incredulously, anger boiling inside of him—no one had talked to him like that... ever! He wasn't a stupid little kid to be chastised for stealing a friend's toy. Harry had never been a stupid little kid. "_You're_ the ones who kidnapped me from my home and forced me into fighting in _your_ war! You think you're the only ones that matter! Didn't it ever occur to you that maybe we've been fighting in our _own_ war? You don't even care—you just break in and take what you want!"

"You aren't even one of _them_!" The man shouted back, voice rising louder than Harry's had been, "Dumbledore has done everything he can to keep you safe! Your mum and dad—they _died_ for you! For you and the entire wizarding world! Doesn't _their_ sacrifice mean anything? But you wouldn't even come back to face your destiny! And now that you're finally here, you're more interested in undermining everything we do to help you! Moony said you were making friends—don't you care about what happens to them? Do you _want_ them to die?!"

"They aren't my friends," Harry retorted coolly, "My friends belong to Konoha, just like _I_ do, just like my _family_ does."

"What family?" The man said scathingly, "You mean that blasted Hatake? You call a bastard who did nothing more than sleep with someone else's wife your family! Harry, James and Lily Potter were the ones who cared for you—who would have raised you if they hadn't died for you. Do you think _he_ even knew about you?"

Harry knew he didn't, but that didn't matter. He didn't like to think of James and Lily Potter. He knew almost nothing about them, other than that they'd died when he was still a baby. A father that he'd heard stories about was better than a father he'd heard nothing of at all. Besides, Hatake Sakumo had been a shinobi and a hero. James Potter had been a _wizard_.

"I have a brother," Harry said deftly, "He's my family."

"Oh, yes, your _brother_," the man's voice was thick with mocking understanding, "You mean that man who nearly killed off the only person capable of protecting you and the students of this school. The man who would have made _you_ into a murderer, too, if he could have."

Harry bristled, "Kakashi's not a murderer, and neither am I!" At the moment, he wouldn't have hesitated to kill the man if he could have. "And even if I was," he added spitefully, "I'd rather be a murderer than a wizard!"

The man looked taken aback. He looked genuinely astonished for a moment. Then he shook his head and backed away again. He'd only gone a few steps before he turned abruptly and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

It was only after he was alone, and had a moment to collect his thoughts and reign in his temper, that Harry realized he'd forgotten to ask about his brother's condition. He was sure the man would have mentioned it if Kakashi was dead, but the older boy's fate bothered him constantly now that he'd thought of it.

Still feeling upset, Harry turned as much of his thoughts as he could to the ropes holding him down, and began working through the many techniques he'd learned at the Academy.


	15. Prisoners

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: The world is a very imperfect place, thus I do not own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_.

Fanfiction has been screwy (for me?) the last couple of days and I haven't been able to log on until just now. So that's my excuse for not replying to your reviews this week. ^_^ It's late, so I can't get to them now, and I figured you'd probably appreciate the next chapter rather than review replies, anyway, but assuming ff doesn't go screwy again, I'll get back to you with my personal thank-you's soon. For now, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Thanks to RogueUnit for pointing out a small discrepancy in this chapter... all fixed now!

Chapter 15 – Prisoners

After spending several hours futilely struggling against the ropes that held him prisoner, Harry finally gave up, falling into a fitful sleep.

He saw Death Eaters razing Hogwarts, burning the building and reveling in the shrieks of dying students. Only, upon a second look, they weren't death eaters, anymore. He could see their faces and they were him—each of them like a room full of clones.

He saw Malfoy's body, broken and still bleeding sluggishly, in the middle of the Quidditch field. Students swooped overhead on their brooms, and crowds cheered enthusiastically, as though none of them even saw the dead boy.

And he saw Konoha. He stood on the Hokage Tower and looked across the village, but it was entirely empty. Even the wind was still. He was home, but he was entirely alone.

The feeling of helpless loneliness still clung to him when he woke. He glanced at the window first, but couldn't tell how long had passed, and then he quickly looked around to see if anyone was in the room with him. There wasn't anyone, and Harry's lonely feeling grew. He would have welcomed even the argumentative man that had been with him when he first woke.

Instead, he found himself completely alone.

At Hogwarts, he was always alone to some degree. He'd never really noticed the companionship the other shinobi offered back in Konoha. Konoha felt alive, full of the life of dozens, hundreds of chakra signatures that all more or less melded together as he stood among them. He'd never really noticed it when he lived there—but now, being in a place like Hogwarts where only he and Kakashi had chakra, it felt completely different.

When he'd first arrived in Konoha, after losing the Dursleys and everything he'd ever known, he had thought he knew what loneliness was. He hadn't been able to talk to anyone at first, and he didn't know anyone or why he was there. All he'd known then was that the Dursleys were dead and he had been thrust into a new, strange place with no explanation, and he'd felt very alone.

Again, after the Kyuubi attacked and Minato and Kushina, the two people who had been more like parents to him than anyone else in his life, had died, he thought he really knew what it was to be alone. As horrible as it seemed, looking back, he'd loved the two of them even more than his brother, and they were both snatched away in a single night. Then Kakashi had disappeared and he'd been left alone. He'd felt like he could die and no one would care.

Harry had never expected to feel as lonely as he had back then again. He had friends and teammates. He had his brother and he had Naruto—whatever the younger boy's relationship to him really was. But out here, at Hogwarts, he had none of that, and he was beginning to experience a new sort of loneliness.

Alone in his room, it wasn't hard to believe that the castle was empty. It could have been abandoned for years for all the life Harry felt in it. He couldn't even feel his brother's chakra, which was perhaps the worst thing. He didn't imagine he could feel any more alone, even if he was the last man standing on a devastated battleground, the lone living thing in a sea of corpses.

To make it worse, he was a prisoner. The friends he might have made would hate him after what he'd done. He wondered what they'd do to him. Would he be executed? Imprisoned? Tortured? But, then, who would they find to fight off Voldemort? Harry doubted that even his lauded position as the wizarding world's savior was enough to save him from the repercussions of his attack. Maybe they'd kill him and kidnap some other unlucky boy. The uncertainty of his future and the inability to do anything to save himself compounded his miserable mindset.

Harry was alone with his thoughts for some time. Too long, it felt like, drifting further and further into a despondent pool of depression. He struggled to remind himself of his duty—he had to get back to Konoha, and he couldn't give in to these wizards no matter what. But even that thread was weak and fraying when the door finally opened again.

The Genin's eyes immediately snapped onto the figure that stepped inside.

It was the man he'd seen last time, only he didn't look as angry. When he noticed Harry staring, he mustered a weak smile. It slipped off his face quickly and he walked silently to the single chair, slumping down beside Harry's bed.

"Harry, I—" the man broke off, glancing from him to the window, and then looking around the ceiling for several seconds before he forced his gaze back to the boy. "… I'm sorry," he said at last, sighing, "I was short-tempered with you before and I… I shouldn't have been. It's not you're fault, you can't be expected to know things outside of how you were raised."

"I was raised just fine," Harry snapped defensively. Objectively, he knew that that wasn't entirely true. He'd spent his first six years raised by a neglectful, and sometimes abusive, family, constantly being crushed emotionally. For a year, things had almost been normal, if he disregarded the long stretches of time he'd been left on his own without so much as a babysitter. And then he'd been more or less forced to raise himself. Kakashi had done what he could as a teenager suffering from his own losses, but Harry had rarely had adult supervision, and he'd learned to live in a way that suited him best. That suited a _shinobi_ best.

Still, it could have been worse. Things were a lot worse for many of his friends in Konoha. Tenzou had spent his entire childhood in a laboratory, being experimented on like an animal by a madman. Naruto had been ignored, neglected, and occasionally abused by every adult in his life. Compared to them, Harry thought, his life had been moderately happy.

For a moment, the man looked like he was about to argue, then he shook his head tiredly. "Come on, Harry, let's just talk for a bit like civilized people."

Harry shrugged. "Okay. Why don't we start with your name?"

The man stared at him for a moment, then blinked, and smiled slightly. "I'm sorry, Harry, I assumed…" He laughed once, "No, of course you wouldn't know me. I'm Sirius. Sirius Black. Harry," the laughter was gone and an intent look entered his eyes, but the smile remained on his face, "I'm your godfather."

For a moment, all Harry registered was _father_, and he sat in shocked silence. Whoever this man was, he couldn't possibly be claiming to be Harry's _father_. It took several seconds for him to reevaluate the man's sentence and realize what he'd actually said. The revelation didn't make it any clearer.

"You're what?" He asked in confusion, "What's a godfather?"

"Oh…" the man frowned, and scratched the side of his head briefly. "Well… you see, in England, at least, it's customary for a man not related to the family to become a boy's godfather. Godfathers are meant to help parents raise the child and step in on his upbringing if the parents are unfit to raise the boy themselves."

Harry stared back at him intently for a long moment before slowly saying, "So, what… are you trying to say you care about what happens to me? Or you feel some responsibility over me? Or are you trying to kindle some sort of emotional response from the lonely orphan inside of me? I think we've been over that one before—I have a family, and a godfather won't change that."

"Harry!" Sirius snapped with irritation. He ground his mouth shut and glared at the boy for a long moment before looking away again and visibly working to calm himself. "So much for a civilized conversation," he muttered in annoyance.

At last, the man forced his gaze back, only some of the hostility having dissipated. "Harry, you might not believe me, but I _do_ care about you. Hell, I helped change your diapers when you were a baby. But your father was my best friend, and I _won't_ listen to his _son_ insulting him right in front of me, understand?"

"People don't always get what they want," Harry retorted shrewdly, "Why are you so special that your feelings should be spared? I've had to listen to insults about my family and friends for as long as I can remember."

For an instant, the anger in the man's eyes flared up again, but this time it sputtered out quickly, the dark orbs softening and the man's shoulders drooping a little. "I'm sure you've lived a hard life, Harry," he said softly, "And I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I would have been, you know, if I'd had a choice. Unfortunately," he smiled wryly, although Harry saw a shadow creep into his eyes, "I was in prison, paying the time for that back-stabbing little traitor of a rat, _Pettigrew_."

"I don't want sympathy," Harry said coldly, "And I don't want explanations. I don't really care how I ended up passed around like a sake cup. In fact, I'm glad it happened, otherwise, who knows, I might have actually embraced the idea of being a wizard and fighting your war."

"Is arguing with people who want to help you another one of those things they teach you when they show you how to kill?" Sirius asked dryly, "Because if it is, you're really excelling at your lessons."

"You want to help me?" Harry asked, "Then let me out of these ropes. Then let me go _home_."

Sirius sighed and shook his head. "You know I can't do that, Harry. Ask me for anything else and I'll do it. Are you hungry? I can get you some food, at least."

Harry considered spitefully asking the wizard to kill Dumbledore for him, but he knew that would never happen, and it would probably just start another argument. He could at least use the man for information.

"Tell me how my brother's doing," he said after a moment.

Sirius hesitated, his gray eyes measuring. At last, he nodded, "Alright. I haven't seen him, myself, as the wards on his room prevent anyone except his doctor from entering or leaving, but I've heard he's recovering quickly. He had some lacerations on his back that have mostly healed already—not nearly as much as he deserved, I'm sure. I haven't heard if he's woken up yet or not. I think they're trying to keep him asleep until Dumbledore's back on his feet."

Harry nodded in understanding. Keeping his brother knocked out was the only thing they could do, assuming they wanted him alive. If he woke up, he'd undoubtedly find a way to escape, and the wizards wouldn't stand a chance a second time—Kakashi knew what they could do now.

"What are you going to do to us?" Harry asked.

Sirius frowned, scratching his head through his long hair. "I'm not entirely sure what will be done with you. People will probably be pushing for Azkaban after what you two did, at least, they normally would, but times are desperate, and you are… _you_. If Dumbledore can find another way to control you—"

"_Control_ me!" Harry broke in angrily, "I'm not a puppet! I'll kill myself before I let anyone _control_ me!" Even as he said it, he wasn't sure that he was telling the truth. He wouldn't let people control his life, but it would all be pointless if he were dead. And he wasn't sure that he'd have the strength of will to drive a sword into his own flesh the way his father had.

Sirius cringed, "Not like that, Harry… I mean… if he can find a way to keep something like this from happening again. Obviously no one's going to be putting you under the Imperius or anything… perhaps 'influence' or 'encourage' is a better word…"

Harry had read about the Unforgivables in a book buried in the Restricted Section of the library on his second visit, so he knew what the wizard was talking about. He wanted to try his hand at them sometime, but the book didn't explain how to cast the curses. He was still hoping to find another book that did—three spells like those would be very useful. He could understand why they were forbidden.

"So, you're really going to let them keep me imprisoned in this castle," Harry said darkly, still irritated by the thought of being controlled like that. "You make a _brilliant_ godfather, don't you?"

"You're not _imprisoned_," Sirius argued.

Harry glared at him doubtfully and looked pointedly from the ropes still tying him to his bed to the bars on the window and the heavy, locked door. He frowned at Sirius, "Aren't I?"

"Ah, well… in a way, I suppose," Sirius muttered. He stood abruptly, "Do you want some food, Harry?"

"Will you untie me so I can eat?" Harry asked. When the wizard didn't say anything right away, he quickly shot down the idea, "I'm not going to let anyone feed me like an infant."

"Can't say I didn't offer," the man said before turning to the door.

* * *

"I take it you and Harry had another cheerful conversation," Lupin said lightly when Sirius stormed into his office and flung himself into a chair across from his desk. It was a little strange, having the other man as a friend again, after hating him for Lily and James's deaths for so long. He could still remember the shock and confusion that had filled him when they'd found Peter's body, fingerless and still bearing the mark of the Dark Lord, eleven years after his presumed murder.

The other man snorted, "I don't know how you can stand him. He's completely determined to hate everything about wizards and his parents."

"Harry doesn't even know his parents, so how can he hate them?" Lupin asked with a sympathetic smile, "And you can't really blame him for hating wizards."

Sirius shot him a dry look, "Watch me."

Lupin shook his head, "No… I mean, when Harry first came here, Dumbledore told me he was scared to death of wands and magic. Considering that all he remembered about it was the way his aunt's family—the Dursleys, I mean—were murdered, it's understandable."

Sirius grunted.

"And since then, he's been taken away from his home, force-fed more lessons in magic in a few months than most kids can take in a year, and refused any connection with what he considers his home," Lupin added. He looked pointedly at the other man, "I _know_ you'd hate us, too, if that's the only experiences you'd had."

Sirius only grunted again and ignored the subject. "You should hear how he talks about James and Lily—he'd rather call that bastard ninja his family! I knew James never should've hired him. We could have found someone else to replace him if he thought it was such a big deal."

"No use crying over spilt milk," Lupin said.

Sirius shot him an exasperated look, "How can you be so calm about this? Did you even see what he did out there? Of course you did—you helped take him down!"

"I don't think Harry's a bad kid, Sirius," Lupin said gently, "He has different ideas of what counts as acceptable behavior than we do, but I've spent a good amount of time with him and I think I know him pretty well. He's a smart kid; he's brave, bold, and extremely loyal. When he's not trying to pick a fight, he's even enjoyable to hold a conversation with. He's much more mature than most of the students his age," the man chuckled and added, "Most of the students at Hogwarts, actually."

"Yeah, he looked real _mature_ with blood staining his clothes," Sirius said darkly.

Lupin sighed, "Sirius, if you keep looking for bad things, you're bound to keep finding them. Try giving him the benefit of the doubt for once and be civil."

"I tried that," the other man growled, "He mocked me for it."

"Well… you can't expect him to trust you immediately," Lupin said awkwardly, "Did you tell him—"

"Yes," Sirius cut in, "_That's_ what he mocked me about. The brat has no respect."

"Harry's the type of person you have to earn respect from," Lupin agreed.

Sirius rolled his eyes, "He even had the audacity to claim that Dumbledore kidnapped him."

"Oh… um…" Lupin faltered and Sirius quickly pinned him with a hard stare.

"Did he?" Sirius questioned, and then again, "No—he _did_?"

"Calm down," Lupin grumbled, "It's not… I mean, that's not how it was _supposed_ to happen. It was the backup plan, I guess. The Minister sent Shacklebolt down to talk to Harry and bring him back. Shacklebolt never made contact with him, and Harry and… his brother found the portkey before he could even try explaining."

"So we kidnapped him," Sirius said, "We _really_ did kidnap him! No wonder the kid's angry!"

Lupin sighed, "I told you if you thought about it you'd understand."

"Still, that doesn't excuse his actions. It's amazing that no one was killed. Whatever their motive was, they had no right to attack the students like that."

"Of course," Lupin agreed, "I'm not trying to excuse his behavior, I'm just trying to explain what I think his motives were. Their reactions were extreme, but we're more likely to be able to work through things if we can understand where they come from."

* * *

Kakashi's awareness returned to him sluggishly, the conscious world around him as slippery as a toad under water. Every time he thought he was waking up, exhaustion beat heavily on his mind again, forcing him back into sleep. This time, though, he was becoming aware of his body.

He could feel the ropes pressing against his limbs. They'd been secured tightly and squeezed him uncomfortably. He was also aware of the mattress under his back, the soft, western style that he was becoming increasingly familiar with. Then he became aware of cool air on his face and his eyelids twitched, nearly opening to give him a glimpse of what he'd gotten himself into.

That's when the exhaustion returned, beating down on his consciousness. Kakashi fought against it, desperately swimming against the insistent pull of sleep, fighting to wake up.

Finally, he forced his eyelids open. They felt heavy and it was a chore just to look around. The room he was in was dark, he could only barely make out the ceiling hovering somewhere in the shadows above him.

He was being drugged, he realized. It was the only explanation for why he felt so completely exhausted. He hadn't even used that much chakra. He should have destroyed Dumbledore and the others when he had the chance—maybe he was becoming too soft to work in ANBU. Kakashi had never liked the idea of spilling more blood than was necessary, but he had never shown mercy like that to enemies of the village before—even if they _hadn't_ been officially named as such.

With great effort, the Jounin managed to twitch a finger. The drug was working through his system slowly, it might take another hour or more for him to fight off the last of the effects. Hopefully, that would be fast enough.

Idly, he wondered why he was still alive. Perhaps the wizards wanted to hold a trial for him—although they couldn't reach any verdict other than guilty, so there really wasn't a reason to hold one.

He heard a noise somewhere to his left and quickly shut his eyes, allowing his breathing to fall into a shallow, steady rhythm. Again, he had to fight off the compulsion to sleep. He heard the noise of a door creaking open and footsteps entering the room.

"Strong and mighty ninja, indeed," a voice said snidely. "Taken out by a single wizard. _Pathetic_."

Kakashi's thoughts were grim as he remembered the battle and his humiliating defeat. Things had been going so well—he still wasn't sure who had hit him. There had only been the two wizards, Lupin and the woman, who were capable of hurting him at the time.

The realization was slow to surface through his groggy mind, but a knot of lead formed in the shinobi's gut as he realized someone else must have arrived without his notice. Mentally, he cursed the wizards—they were able cast spells and yet they had no chakra signatures to give them away. How was he supposed to fight against a surprise attack from someone like that?

He'd have to find a way to sense them, he supposed. It hadn't been something he'd been particularly concerned about, since he'd always been able to hear their approach, but in a noisy atmosphere like the Quidditch stadium, he hadn't been able to pick out the sound of someone new approaching.

The footsteps had stopped and the next thing Kakashi knew, his head was being jerked up by his hair. The pain barely registered in his muddled mind. Then something cool was pressed to his lips.

They were drugging him again, Kakashi realized with as much anxiety as his exhausted brain could muster. He tried to jerk away, but managed nothing more than a twitch. His mouth opened easily to the pressure of the man's thumb, and a warm, foul tasting liquid was being poured onto his tongue.

Kakashi choked as the liquid hit the back of his throat. He tried to cough, but even that was too much for him.

"Oh?" The snide voice of whoever stood over him sounded wickedly amused, "Are you waking up already, Hatake?"

A hand stroked at his neck and Kakashi was swallowing automatically before he could even try to stop himself.

"I'll be sure to make your next dose stronger," the voice assured him, "Although, you're already on the maximum recommended dosage; if I give you too much, it might kill you." A harsh laugh, "That would be a pity."

Kakashi tried to force his eyes open again, even if he could do nothing more than glare at his captor, but they were already becoming heavier than ever and the small movement proved too great for him. Whatever drug they were giving him, it worked _fast_. Already, the Jounin could feel his awareness slipping away, even as he fought to stay awake.

He heard the voice again, but couldn't make out what it said as he was pulled, once more, into a deep sleep.

* * *

"Did my godfather give up no me?" Harry asked, glancing up at Lupin as he entered the room.

Lupin smiled tiredly, "You've been giving Sirius a hard time, Harry… you know, he only came here because of you."

Harry frowned in bemusement, "What's that supposed to mean?"

The man settled down in the chair beside Harry's bed. "Sirius has been in Azkaban—ah, the wizard's prison, that is—under the accusations that he was a Death Eater and responsible for the deaths of your parents. He escaped when Voldemort broke his people out last year, and has been in hiding since, even after Peter's body was found and we realized the story we'd accepted was flawed. Until he found out you were here, that is. He wanted to see you."

"He has a funny way of showing it," Harry said dryly, "Yelling at me like a child and insulting my family and home. I assumed he'd been sent to torture me."

"Sirius… has strong opinions, and he didn't know the, ah, circumstances of your arrival here," Lupin said tactfully. "I'm sure you both said unnecessary things; you're not exactly subtle about how you feel, either, Harry."

Harry shot him a dark look, "So, you're on _his_ side. Of course, you _are_ a wizard, at least you have _some _loyalty."

"Harry," Lupin sighed, "I'm not on his _side_, Sirius is brash and I'm sure he said things he shouldn't have. But I can't condone what you've done or said, either. Do you really believe what you did the other day was right? Do you think all of those students you hurt deserved it? Was it _really_ worth it?"

Harry was silent for a long moment. At last, he answered, "It would have been… if Dumbledore had let us go home because of it." He scowled, "But he's a bastard, isn't he? He didn't even care if we hurt or killed the people under his care, even when they weren't able to defend themselves. A leader should be willing to sacrifice his life for the people he serves and protects."

"Professor Dumbledore _does_ care, Harry," Lupin corrected gently, "He didn't give in because he believes it's for the greater good if you stay and fight. Sometimes it is even harder and braver for a leader to live while those in his care die; the best leader is one that makes every death count."

"And do you agree with him?" Harry demanded, "Would you have sacrificed the students we might have killed just on the off chance that maybe you could force us to help you fight?"

Lupin sighed again and rubbed the back of his head, running his fingers through his short, graying hair. It took a long time before he raised his head to meet Harry's eyes again. Slowly, he answered, "No… I don't believe our deliverance can come from someone forced into the role. But I also don't know how we can defeat Voldemort without you, Harry. The prophecy…"

Harry frowned, "Dumbledore said something about a prophecy before. He wouldn't tell me what it meant, said I wouldn't understand until I'd learned more."

Lupin shrugged, "I've never heard it, but I know it has to do with you and Voldemort. Given the Headmaster's actions, I'm sure it must say you will be the one to defeat him."

Harry snorted, "Prophecy isn't real, anyway. Our destinies aren't predetermined, and nothing that woman in the tower says could convince me otherwise." Divination was, as far as Harry could tell, a worthless class. The teacher didn't even seem to notice that all of her students were faking their work.

The man smiled a little, "Most wizards don't believe in divination, either. But even if they claim otherwise, most people seem to believe in prophecy."

"I'm not most people," Harry said deftly. "And I'm not going to fight Voldemort. He's not my enemy, I haven't been hired to fight him, he isn't even a part of my world anymore. What do I have to gain out of the exchange? For all I know, Dumbledore won't even let us go if we do defeat him—maybe he'll put us up against another _evil _wizard."

Some emotion flicked across the man's face, but was masked quickly. Harry tried to interpret it; pain, sorrow, regret, hurt, betrayal… he wasn't quite sure.

"He did try to kill you," Lupin reminded the boy softly.

Harry shrugged—as well as he could with his arms pressed tightly against his sides. "That was a long time ago. Other people have tried to kill me, and I haven't hunted down any of them."

"He'll try again," Lupin added.

"Maybe," Harry said, "But he wouldn't if I were still back in Konoha. He wouldn't even know I was alive, would he?"

Lupin was silent for a long moment, considering. At last, he said, "I don't know. Professor Dumbledore found the way to Konoha on his own, Voldemort may have been able to do the same, given enough time. He was obsessed enough to try to kill you when you were a baby. He must have been furious when he was defeated by you. If he even suspected you were still alive, I doubt he'd stop hunting you, even in Konoha. And then you wouldn't have known what you do now. If you didn't know anything about magic, how do you think you would have defended yourself from a man wielding a stick, who could have killed you with a single word that you wouldn't have even known was dangerous?"

It had never occurred to Harry that Voldemort might have hunted him down in Konoha. When he'd been younger, he'd been afraid the white-faced wizards would find him and kill him, but he'd been assured time and again that they couldn't reach him in Konoha, and he'd come to believe it when all evidence supported that conclusion. But Dumbledore _had_ found a way there—it really wasn't so unbelievable that Voldemort might have, as well. And men with passionate beliefs were always dangerous, whether they were shinobi, civilian, or wizard.

Harry suspected he would have been dead before he even realized he was being threatened. If not him, then someone else would probably have died before they realized how the wizard was attacking. The thought of the mayhem that could have been wrought on his ignorant village sent a slight shudder down Harry's back.

"I survived the last time he tried to kill me," Harry said with more confidence than he felt, "And I survived when his followers attacked me at the Dursleys. I would have survived again if I'd needed to."

"Would your brother?"

Harry snorted. "Kakashi would survive even if gods threw down the sky on the land. Even if demons woke up in the graveyards and slaughtered every other person. Kakashi could never be killed by one man—even if he wasn't expecting the attack." He knew it wasn't true. His brother was as human as anyone. He'd seen him bleed, and he'd seen him cry—once, several years before when the older boy had thought he was alone and had let the doors of his emotions crack open just slightly. He'd visited him in the hospital countless times, and had been convinced that he lay on his deathbed more than once.

But Kakashi always survived, even when everyone around him died. In that sense, Harry thought, they were very similar. Still, neither of them would be able to hold out forever.

Lupin sighed. After a long moment, he stood, looking tired. "Listen, Harry… I can't tell you what to do, and I can't tell you what to think. But you should at least give everything some thought—and be honest with yourself. What do you _really_ believe is right? Could you really live with yourself knowing you've condemned everyone here to death or enslavement by your inaction?"

Harry didn't respond and Lupin didn't wait for him. Quietly, the man crossed to the door and let himself out, leaving Harry alone with the foreboding thoughts.

* * *

"I brought some dinner," Sirius announced when he visited next. Harry had been dozing until he'd heard the door shift, but he was alert enough to watch the man enter, a tray hovering in the air in front of him as he shut the door.

"I'm not letting you feed me," Harry grumbled, although his stomach gave a jolt at the sight of the food and the smells suddenly filling his nose. He could hardly even think of protesting as his hunger roiled inside of him.

"Then I'll untie you," Sirius said.

Harry's eyes flicked to his face, wide with surprise, even the temptation of food losing its grip on him. His muscles tensed in expectation. This was it—if the man really loosened his ropes, he could escape easily.

"The room is warded," Sirius added as the tray came to rest on the tiny table beside Harry's bed. "You won't be able to get out even if you try… but I was hoping you'd see my offer as the peace offering it is and give a little back."

Harry eyed him flatly, "Shinobi aren't peaceful creatures, godfather."

The man shot him an irritated look, "Don't call me that."

"You said that's what you were," Harry protested, raising an eyebrow.

"That doesn't mean I want you calling me that every time you see me," Sirius grumbled, "It just sounds weird. Call me Sirius."

Harry shrugged slightly, an awkward movement that was more in the neck than the shoulders due to the ropes. "Are you going to untie me?"

"First look at me and tell me you won't try to escape," Sirius demanded.

Harry obliged, his green eyes meeting the man's dark pits. "I won't try to escape."

"I've heard your father was an honest man," Sirius said, aiming a wand at Harry's bed, "Let's see if you're really _his_ son."

"I told you," Harry said, irritated despite himself, "My father's—"

"Sakumo Hatake, you said," Sirius interrupted, meeting the boy's eyes again, "I know."

Harry was too surprised to react immediately when the man's wand flicked and the ropes suddenly rushed off of him, retreating like writhing snakes before falling limply to the ground, pooled around the bed.

The Genin sat up slowly, his muscles stiff from being in one position for so long. Grimacing, he rigorously rubbed at his right arm and looked from Sirius to the door. Then again, he could escape at any time—he wasn't really in a hurry. He looked back at the wizard.

"You know him?"

Sirius shrugged, gesturing to the tray he'd brought as he settled down in the chair. "I met him once, but only for a few minutes. He didn't leave a very favorable impression on me, then…"

Harry scowled, grabbing a roll and biting into it viciously. It really was a waste of time talking to this man. He didn't want to hear the unreasonable accusations the wizard was bound to throw at his father, just because he followed a way of life that Sirius didn't understand.

"But I heard he was here once," Sirius continued, "Professor McGonagall told me. She said she was surprised that the two of you were really his children when you both behaved so violently."

Harry snorted. He didn't have any illusions about what his father was. Hatake Sakumo was a shinobi. He'd been renowned in his time and known in all of the major countries as the White Fang of Konoha. A ninja didn't become well known for his kindness—his name became known and feared because of his ruthless tenacity and prowess.

"Then she didn't know him well."

Sirius shrugged again, "I don't really know. She just said he was an honest boy, with a kind spirit and a good heart. I suppose you wouldn't understand that."

Harry rolled his eyes, "Of course not—I'm a lying, murderous bastard, right?"

Sirius made a frustrated noise. "I'm trying to apologize, brat!" He snapped, "I didn't really know what I was talking about before. I still don't think you should have attacked students, and I'll probably never like your _father_, but I didn't have the whole story then, and I probably still don't."

Harry eyed him in surprise first, then suspicion. With effort, he managed to set aside the plate he was eating from. "What do you want? Why are you here? Even if you _have_ changed your mind about me, I haven't changed mine about you, and I don't need someone to pretend to be my parent."

"I don't want _anything_ from you," Sirius said, annoyed, "I'd just like the chance to get to know you. You _are_ my godson, and whoever you consider your father, you'll always be James and Lily's son, to me."

Harry snorted, "That's the biggest thing you could ask from a shinobi."

Sirius shook his head in exasperation, his jaw tightening and relaxing twice before he said, "Eat your dinner, Harry."

Harry continued to eye him distrustfully several seconds longer before turning back to the meal.

* * *

Kakashi's rise to consciousness was much faster the second time. It was as though he'd been drowning, unable to move, and abruptly his limbs were free and he was able to flail his way to the surface. His eyes snapped open and his body jerked, only to be restrained as the loops of rope tightened against him.

Immediately, the teen's eyes landed on the other people in the room, standing near the foot of his bed. Dumbledore stood calmly, cold blue eyes returning his gaze from a pale, drawn face. A step behind him was Snape, who returned his stare with a venomous glare.

Dumbledore stepped closer, and his old voice rasped a little when he spoke, but the words were cold and edged with threat. "I should have you thrown into Azkaban for what you did."

Kakashi's jaw was tight as his eyes narrowed. He wasn't sure what Azkaban was, but it didn't sound like something he wanted anything to do with. A small, vindictive part of him was pleased to see how angry he'd gotten the seemingly unflappable man. A larger part was irritated with himself that he hadn't managed to finish him off before he'd been taken down.

"Unfortunately, Azkaban isn't as secure as it once was," the old wizard continued, his aged voice still hard as steel. "I had hoped you and your brother would cooperate, Mr. Hatake, but whatever else happens, I can't allow you to further harm students." He held a hand expectantly towards Snape.

The dark-haired wizard passed him a tube of paper, which the Headmaster took. Snape then reached into his robes for something else; his eyes never left Kakashi.

"This," Dumbledore said, unrolling the paper in front of Kakashi. The young man glanced down at the English words with a frown. "Is a magical contract," the old wizard continued, "Once you sign it, it will prevent you from hurting anyone on the school grounds."

Snape stepped forward with a jar of ink and a quill, and set them to float at the old man's elbow before turning his wand on Kakashi.

Kakashi looked up at the old wizard again, expression blank. "You know I won't sign anything—especially if it's magic."

"It would be easiest if you agreed now," Dumbledore agreed calmly, "But if we need to, we will persuade you. What you did the other day was completely unacceptable, and I will not chance something like that happening again."

"Then you'll have to kill me," Kakashi said coldly.

"We have spells for killing, Hatake," Snape said, "Which I wouldn't hesitate to use on you. But a simple Crucio might change your mind."

"Severus," Dumbledore interrupted tiredly, shooting the younger man a look that clearly expressed he was done with the conversation. He turned back to Kakashi when all the Potions Master gave him was a dour look. "If there is one thing I've learned about these shinobi, it is that they have an extremely high tolerance for pain. Young Sakumo shattered the bones in his right arm during his stay with us and walked himself calmly to the infirmary immediately afterwards, patiently waiting his turn to be seen by Madam Pomfrey."

Kakashi ignored the mention of his father—it wasn't important and was clearly inserted to draw his mind away from the matters at hand.

There was a brief silence before Dumbledore continued, his glacier eyes fixed pointedly on the young man. "Your brother is in a room upstairs," he said calmly.

Kakashi felt his muscles tense all through his body. "You won't kill him. You need him." It was a poor threat, but a threat nonetheless and Kakashi felt his psych reacting to it even though he knew they couldn't possibly go through with it.

"No, we won't kill him," Dumbledore agreed, "But you leave us in a quandary. We can't allow you to exist in a state where you can harm students, and neither do we adhere to the brutal disciplinary statutes of your people. Still, something must be done."

Kakashi eyed the man levelly. There was nothing he could do that would make him change his conviction. He had been vigorously trained to withstand torture and interrogation, and these wizards had weak backs for violence.

"You will sign the contract," Dumbledore said again, his voice even but his eyes just a little regretful, "Or we will erase your memory and make you disappear."

The Jounin felt a tingle of apprehension—they couldn't really do that, could they?

"I'm sure Harry will be angry… but without you, he should be easier to convince to cooperate," the old wizard continued, "You won't be harmed… you can start your life over as a civilian somewhere. You'll never return to your village, but you won't remember you had a village to return to. I'm sure you'll make a life for yourself."

They couldn't, Kakashi told himself again. He couldn't imagine living as a civilian—he'd been a shinobi almost since he could walk. Certainly for as long as he could remember. Still, he couldn't just sign himself away.

The Headmaster held the paper before his face again. "Read it," he said, "It's just as I said. The contract will stop you from harming Hogwarts' students or staff, as well as anyone else under the protection of its wards. It will not prevent you from leaving here, and will not otherwise inhibit you. I would give you time to think about it, but I know of the shinobi tenacity and believe you might find a way out of our bonds, as difficult as that would be. I need an answer before we leave the room."

Kakashi glared at him a moment longer before reluctantly allowing his eyes to stumble over the foreign text. The letters themselves weren't difficult to read, but it was a long process to imagine the pronunciation and then connect a meaning to the string of sounds, all in his mind. Still, he struggled through it, analyzing the contract for loopholes or additional constraints.

The worst part of the deal, of course, was that Kakashi would lose his ability to strike back at the Headmaster, either in a roundabout way through his students or in a direct attack. Assuming the magic really worked the way Dumbledore claimed it would, and the magic he'd seen around the castle suggested that it would.

Signing the document seemed to be the better choice for him nonetheless, and that bothered Kakashi most of all. If he signed, he would be giving in. He would have lost his fight with the Headmaster. He could still leave, but it would be a meaningless and cowardly flight.

Scowling, the shinobi swallowed his pride and met the Headmaster's eyes. Sometimes duty and honor required distasteful things.

"… I'll sign."


	16. The Light

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: According to certain circles, I don't own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_. I'm pretty sure they're in denial.

Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up; between all the last minute pre-spring-break school work and the trouble I had with one or two parts... it just took longer than usual. I'm pretty happy with it now, so I look forward to hearing what you think.

As for reviews... I think it's safe to say it's a hopeless situation. You guys are all just too great at reviewing! Thank you very much! From now on, if it's no problem, I think I'll only answer reviews with questions individually, hopefully I won't be so overwhelmed fthat way. You guys are great. ^_^

I do want to address one concern that people have brought up several times over the last two chapters... which is why Kakashi didn't use a Genjutsu to put everyone to sleep like Kabuto used at the Chuunin exams. My answer is that Kakashi isn't the Genjutsu type, and didn't have the skill to pull something like that off. Pre-Sharingan-Kakashi probably didn't spend a lot of effort on learning Genjutsu because his style of fighting was mostly fast Taijutsu and Ninjutsu. I also mentioned earlier that he hadn't worked on using Genjutsu with the Sharingan much. I feel like using the Sharingan for Genjutsu is something that needs to be learned. Neither Sasuke or Kakashi use it much in canon, and neither of them had an official teacher, whereas Itachi, who would have been taught by the elders in his clan, uses Genjutsu heavily. I believe this implies that there are some ingrained abilities of the Sharingan, such as predicting enemy movement and copying Ninjutsu, and others that need to be trained, like the Genjutsu. Hope that clears it up for everyone.

Jutsu used in this chapter:

Genzou Genshu – Illusion Compliance

Moguragakure no Jutsu – Mole Hiding Technique (canon)

Mizu Rappa – Violent Water Wave (canon)

Chapter 16 – The Light

Harry's stomach felt full before the tray was empty and he mused silently as he listened to Sirius talk about the famous last stand of his mother and father—a story he'd read in books and that every wizard child in England knew by heart. As much as he would have liked to ignore the story completely, a small, conflicted part of him soaked in the details that weren't included in the brief sentences of textbooks. The parts about a man who, even if they hadn't been related by blood, had considered him his son and died in a futile effort to protect him and a mother who stood over him, shielding him when she could have run.

He didn't want to feel anything for it, but the story surrounding his birth and earliest year of life resonated strongly with the values ingrained in him from his upbringing. The love for a family that went beyond blood, the sacrifice of life to protect the greater community, even the use of lies to maintain the peace struck Harry as noble.

If James had been a shinobi, Harry might have been proud to call him his father.

But stories could be faked and Harry didn't see the values in Sirius' stories reflected in the wizarding community he'd been dragged into. Talk was easy enough to get right, Harry couldn't respect something he couldn't see.

Deciding he'd put off his escape long enough, Harry touched his fork to his plate and swiftly struck the wizard, still in mid-sentence, over the head with both.

Sirius grunted and Harry hit him again for good measure before dashing to the door. He wasn't surprised when the doorknob wouldn't budge, and moved his hands quickly in a string of seals that had an explosion of fire attacking the door half a second later.

The fire jutsu was one his brother had insisted on teaching him shortly after he'd graduated from the Academy in an effort to get him over his irrational fear of the element. He'd grumbled and complained and never used the jutsu since, but now he was glad to have it in his arsenal as the flames quickly devoured the dry wood, licking and charring the stone blocks that surrounded it.

He burst through the crumbling wood with a kick before he could see the next room. The Genin's brow furrowed and a hiss of pain escaped him when his foot hit a solid surface somewhere just beyond the door. He pulled back quickly, before the flames, displaced by his strike, could converge on his leg.

Hearing a groan behind him, Harry glanced over his shoulder. Sirius was beginning to stir; he'd have to get out quickly or deal more thoroughly with the wizard. Harry turned back to the door just as a large, splintered chunk collapsed outward, giving Harry a window-view of the hall beyond.

Harry reached for the opening, intent on breaking a larger area, only to find his hand hitting some invisible barrier before it went through all the way. Scowling, Harry punched at the barrier—his entire arm ached from the impact and he drew it back, wincing.

"I told you," Sirius' voice was strained and groggy, "The wards won't let you out of this room."

Harry turned and stalked across to the man, lifting him half off the ground where he'd fallen when Harry struck him, to glare into his face. It took Sirius a moment longer to focus a glare back at the boy.

"Turn it off," Harry demanded.

The wizard shook his head. "I can't; even if I wanted to."

Harry growled and dropped the man. Sirius caught himself with his hands and managed to remain relatively upright.

The teen felt like punching something again, just to relieve the frustration boiling inside of him, but he managed to hold his fists at his sides, eyes narrowed as he watched the charred door continue to fall apart, pieces of the destruction easily passing through the barrier that felt so solid to him.

"Aguamenti," Sirius said, and abruptly a stream of water splashed onto the flames, dousing them and soaking the hot wood with a hiss of steam. Harry watched until the last of the flames sputtered out.

* * *

"Severus," Dumbledore prompted, and with a movement of the younger wizard's wand and a growled spell, the ropes loosened a bit around Kakashi's right arm. "Remember your promise," the old man said warningly.

Snape's eyes were dark and distrustful as he proffered the quill, freshly inked, to the young man.

Kakashi's fingers tightened around the quill, knuckles white. With the innocuous little object, he could easily punch a hole through the elderly wizard's esophagus, spear it through his eyeball and into the soft cavity that led to the brain, or any number of attacks to cause fatal injury.

His muscles refused to obey his commands, however, and his hand moved slowly to the paper held before him. He recognized the futility of resisting immediately and wrestled for another moment over whether it was better to resume his silent battle or give his enemies the impression that he was giving up. He doubted they were foolish enough to trust him again, but they may underestimate him.

The tip of the quill touched the paper, but at the last moment Kakashi paused, lifting it back. His eye flicked up to Dumbledore, cold and hard.

"What if they attack me."

The wizard frowned, "Pardon?"

"_Your_ people," Kakashi extrapolated, letting his gaze rest on Snape. "I'm not... _stupid_, Dumbledore-san. I know that I have made many enemies among your staff and students. If I sign this, they would be free to attack me and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

"I am not preventing you from defending yourself," Dumbledore said calmly, "Merely from hurting others when you do."

"And what if your enemies attack this castle?" Kakashi demanded, "Will they, also, be under your wards of protection?"

"... They will," Dumbledore confirmed grimly, "You will not be able to partake in a fight like that on Hogwarts' grounds—not where you attack people directly, at least. It is a tradeoff I am willing to make."

"And this contract is binding for how long?" Kakashi demanded, feeling and suppressing the growing urge in his body to sign the parchment blindly.

"The remainder of your life," Dumbledore said, "I have put no expiration on it, and I believe you will find it difficult to have annulled."

It was obvious Kakashi would be very hampered by the contract, but he had not expected it to be otherwise. He was a prisoner, and would be lucky to escape torture and death, which is what he could have expected from any of the Hidden Villages if they'd captured him in such a way.

The wizard's conditions were by no means unreasonable, considering, but it was a disadvantage Kakashi remained wary of.

"You have already given your word," Dumbledore reminded him.

Kakashi didn't need a reminder of the oath he'd sworn, preventing him from escaping and forcing him to sign. If he'd known a wizard's oath literally could not be broken, he would have chosen his words more carefully. But what was done was done, and Kakashi allowed the quill to move to the paper again.

As the tip of the quill touched the paper a second time, Kakashi nodded to himself and signed his name in two neat columns. He removed the quill and held it towards Snape, who took it from him with a sneer.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, turning the paper to glance at the characters Kakashi had added to the bottom and give them a moment to dry. He rolled the parchment up again and passed it back to Snape, who had already gotten rid of the writing utensils.

"Now," the old man turned to the door, "I believe it is time to pay Harry a visit. He seems to have taken out a door—Sirius may be having some trouble."

Kakashi wondered who Sirius was, whether Harry had been drugged like him, and how he'd managed to break free long enough to destroy a door. "Let me go with you."

Dumbledore regarded him a moment before slowly shaking his head. "I think it would be best if you remain here for the time being. Severus, would you—"

Snape had taken no more than a step towards the Jounin before Kakashi was no longer in the bed, having used his free hand to fully extricate himself from the ropes. He stood in front of Dumbledore, his uncovered eye narrowed. Even without weapons, he was confident he could handle two wizards.

"I may not be able to directly injure you or your students," he said icily, "But I am willing to test just how adaptive your contract is if you force me to. I want to see Harii and I won't tolerate you underestimating me by assuming I'm no longer a concern to you."

"Of course not," Dumbledore agreed somberly, "You will always be on my mind… I suppose it won't cause any great harm if you accompany me. Severus, lower the wards please."

* * *

Sirius sighed as he approached the boy from behind. "See? That's why I asked you not to try to escape. Let me see your arm."

As if brought about by the man's words, Harry became aware of the dull throbbing in his right arm, as well as an uncomfortable ache in his left foot. He glanced down, bringing his hand up to look at his flexing fingers. The skin was pink and raw, as though he'd scrubbed it too hard or was recovering from a shallow burn.

"That looks pretty bad," Sirius hissed. Harry turned to find the man standing beside him, apparently unwary even after the attack he'd been dealt only minutes earlier. "Want me to get Pomfrey in here to fix it? The infirmary's not far… at least, it wasn't when I was on my way here."

Harry shrugged and let his arm fall back to his side. "It's fine. Doesn't hurt much." Even as he spoke, the aching in his limbs was beginning to magnify, as though they'd simply needed a moment for the pain to catch up with the injury.

"Here we are." Harry turned back to the wrecked door at the sound of Dumbledore's voice nearby.

"Careful, the wood may still be—" Dumbledore's warning broke off as the remains of the door were forced open, most of the remaining wood falling from the abused hinges to clatter loudly on the floor. Harry stared, and slowly a relieved smile crossed his lips.

He managed to reign in his emotions and almost smother the smile to nod. "Niisan, I'm glad to see you're not hurt."

The young man glanced him over before returning the sentiment, his words devoid of emotion one way or the other, "And you." His eyes moved past the young teen, "Who's this?"

"My godfather," Harry shrugged.

"Your _what_?" Kakashi asked, looking at the teen incredulously.

Sirius stepped forward, scowling. "Sirius Black," he said, "I was a friend of James—Harry's father… You must be—_Kakashi._ I'm surprised they let you out."

"He did insist rather strongly," Dumbledore said from behind the Jounin. "Let us move inside now, we have things to discuss."

Harry had little choice but to comply. He couldn't leave the room, anyway. Dumbledore and Kakashi were followed by Snape, and with five people inside, the room was beginning to feel cramped.

"Harry, we would like you to continue your studies as soon as possible," Dumbledore began once they were settled, "Of course, we can't risk you harming the students again, so you will sign the same contract your brother did."

Harry shot the Jounin a questioning look, but Kakashi's face, even unmasked as it was, gave away nothing.

"I'm not going to sign anything," Harry said, turning back to the wizard. "Why should I? You need my help, not the other way around. If we were in Konoha, you would be the one signing a contract to agree to pay us once we'd completed your mission." He paused, frowning, "If you needed my help so badly, why didn't you go through the proper channels in the first place? It would have saved you a lot of trouble."

"We tried that," Dumbledore replied, "Your Hokage turned us down."

"It wasn't even worth trying," Kakashi added, "Assassination missions are, by their very nature, no less than A- or S-Ranked, which a Genin would never be sent on. In addition, if you needed training for several years, all at the price of an A-Ranked mission… That would amount to enough to buy the entire country several times over. Nobody could pay a fair fee for such a mission."

"As you say," Dumbledore agreed grimly. He addressed Harry again, "Harry, I realize this situation isn't to your liking, but you must be reasonable. Would you rather I have you thrown in prison for the remainder of your life?"

"Do it," Harry challenged, assured that given time he could break out of any prison that hadn't been designed to hold a shinobi. With enough time, he could probably find a way out of this room, too. Besides, if all they wanted to do as punishment for his actions was make him sign a piece of paper, they were probably too desperate to send him away.

Dumbledore's expression hardened. "Kakashi," he said, eyes not leaving Harry, "If you would talk some sense into young Harry…"

The Jounin shrugged a shoulder lazily. "Harii's stubborn—it would be too much work to try to convince him of anything."

Harry felt a rush of pride, knowing that he'd chosen correctly. Kakashi obviously didn't want him to sign, and together they'd be able to get out of whatever repercussions awaited him, he was sure.

Dumbledore glanced between the two shinobi, aware that somehow the balance of power had tipped away from him once more, even though he was the one with all the cards. He couldn't ply Harry with the same threats he had the boy's brother. Ultimately, Kakashi was not a necessary piece in their game, although he could make himself useful. Harry, however, was their most important player, and he had to be careful not to push him too far.

"I believe there is an easy remedy to this, Headmaster," Snape said, piercing the young ninja with a cruel look. "I doubt Harry would want to see any harm befall… his brother."

"I've been trained against torture," Kakashi said nonchalantly, catching onto the wizard's implications immediately. "Harii knows that, he won't give in just because of a little blood."

"I doubt even you could withstand many of our more… violent curses," Snape sneered, "Shall we see how _Harry_ reacts when you scream for mercy?"

"For crying out loud!" Sirius interrupted angrily, "We aren't _torturing_ anyone! We'd be as bad as Voldemort, then—right, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment, ruminating over the problem. At last, he nodded. "We will not stoop to the level of torture, Severus. If we are to protect the values of light, then we must maintain some moral standards." He knew they'd already treated morality far too lightly, although it had been necessary, but he couldn't justify falling farther into the dark arts.

Harry let out a breath of relief. He knew his brother could withstand torture as well as any Jounin, but he wasn't sure he wouldn't give in if he were made to watch.

"Very well, Harry," Dumbledore turned back to the teen, "As per your decision, you will not be made to sign the contract. However, you will not be granted leave of this room until you do. We will have a charm placed on the wall so you can keep up in your lessons, but you will not be allowed to leave for any reason."

Harry scowled. "Fine," he said irritably, although it was certainly _not_ fine. Again, Kakashi said nothing and his face didn't give away his thoughts. Harry took a deep breath and hoped he'd find a way out of the mess he'd worked himself into.

* * *

Two days later Professors McGonagall and Flitwick performed a complicated charm on the wall of Harry's room opposite the bed. He was no longer tied down, but Harry still made no move to approach them. Likewise, they said nothing to him, and the visit was a short, quiet one.

A sink and toilet had sprouted in one corner of the room the day before, and a desk and study materials had appeared under the barred window. Harry tried not to think about how long they expected to keep him there. Eventually they'd _have_ to release him, surely. They couldn't expect him to kill anyone inside the confines of his cell.

The next day, classes finally resumed after a week's adjourn. Harry's wall glowed with a yellow light before the image of Lupin standing at the front of his classroom blurred into existence. It was like television, Harry thought, he could see and hear everything that happened, including questions posed by various students, but Lupin and the students didn't seem to be able to see or hear him. At least, they didn't react to any of Harry's comments.

After watching several hours of lectures and eating the generous helping of fried chicken that appeared on his desk, Harry was looking forward to a quiet evening until his door—replaced shortly after Dumbledore's last visit—rattled with a knock and swung open.

Sirius stepped inside, looking around at the newest additions to Harry's room and the apparently plain wall that served as his window into classroom life.

"I've been sent to ask if you have any questions," the man announced when it became clear Harry wasn't going to greet him. "Since you're not able to talk to your teachers during class, someone will be around to answer your questions each day. So—questions?"

"No," Harry replied without looking at him.

"… Everything worked alright, I assume," Sirius said after a moment of awkward silence.

Harry shrugged, "I've decided to give up studying wizardry. You can't force me to learn and I'll be of no use if I don't."

Sirius sighed and slouched a little, frowning at his godson. "I understand you don't want to be here, Harry, but you're only making things harder for everyone. If you would just cooperate, you might be back in Konoha in only a year or two. We'd like more time to train you, of course, but Voldemort probably won't give us much longer."

"If you really understood, you wouldn't ask me to betray my village."

"How is helping us betraying them?" Sirius asked, "They aren't our enemies. And the sooner you cooperate, the sooner you'll be back, so it would really be helping them."

Harry shot him a disparaging look before shaking his head. "We've been your enemies since you kidnapped us. The village became your enemies since you committed that act of war." Never mind that the Hokage might still be unaware of what happened—when he found out, there would certainly be a declaration of war, assuming he and Kakashi weren't executed on sight.

Sirius made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "We don't _want_ war, Harry! Not with you or anybody else! We only want to continue to exist as we are—you can understand that, can't you?"

"That's the reason for most wars," Harry shrugged, "No one goes to war thinking his reasons are selfish and greedy."

* * *

"This is unacceptable!" The minister was sweaty and red-faced, anxiety and nerves coloring the tone of his voice. "The board of education will _not_ stand for this! You can't house dangerous criminals at Hogwarts, Albus, and especially not when they've already attacked students once!"

"I've taken every precaution to prevent future situations, Cornelius," Dumbledore assured the man calmly, "I'm afraid I underestimated their feelings towards us before. Harry has been separated from the other students and Kakashi has signed a pact of nonviolence. What more does the board expect?"

"Expulsion," Cornelius replied visciously, "And time in Azkaban! Even though he is Harry Potter, I can't say that I disagree. Maybe a month or two in the care of the Dementors will change his tune."

"If Voldemort doesn't break in and kill him first," Dumbledore observed mildly, "Our hold on Azkaban is nowhere near strong enough to place our fate in its hands. Or do you disagree, Cornelius?"

The minister ignored the question. "The board demands punishment! The older boy, at least, should be locked up!"

"I'll be sure to let him know when he returns," Dumbledore replied complacently.

The minister's eyes widened. "What do you mean, when he returns?! You let him _leave_? Albus—just whose side are you on?!"

"The same side as you, and all free wizards of our good country, I hope," Dumbledore replied calmly, "Mr. Hatake is currently engaged in a mission. I believe he's tackling the problem of Death Eaters that the Aurors have allowed to go unchecked for so long."

"Albus, this is outrageous! That boy is an enemy of the state! He should be locked up, not allowed to gallivant freely around England! What happens if he gets it into his mind to attack again when you aren't' around to stop him, eh?"

"I believe I mentioned that it wasn't me who stopped him last time," Dumbledore said, "I presume someone else will step into that responsibility should it come to pass. However, I doubt he would do something so blatant while his brother is with us."

Cornelius did not look abated. He shook his head, dabbing at his slick brow with a handkerchief. "There is no way the board will approve of this, Albus. You'll be booted out of office—Hogwarts will be shut down! I cannot cover for this."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find a way, Cornelius," Dumbledore said calmly, "You are the Minister of Magic, after all."

* * *

His hands moved quicker than the eye could follow, and before either man could say another word, their heads had collided with a striking _crack!_ Releasing them, Kakashi allowed both men to crumple in their seats and glanced around.

Several of the patrons nearest to their table had turned to stare, but no one seemed overly concerned.

"Everything alright, there?" The bartender called over.

Sliding out of his seat on the bench, Kakashi stood, straightening the long black robe he wore over his usual clothes. He glanced towards the man, although his raised hood didn't allow the bartender to see his face.

"It seems my friends have had too much to drink," he said monotonously. Grabbing the arm of the man nearest to him, he dragged the heavy body from the seat and supported it with one arm while he reached for the other. "I apologize for the trouble."

Before lifting the second man from the bench, he made sure to place the necessary payment on the table—it would be too much work to escape bills carrying around two full grown men.

"No problem," the man replied, eyeing him suspiciously as he hefted up the other man. "Just see to it that they make it home safely."

Nodding, Kakashi silently left the bar, the legs of the two men dragging on the floor as he walked

Once out on the dark street of Knockturn Alley, Kakashi quickly moved into the shadows and made his way several blocks down and into a small, narrow path between two buildings. He slipped into the backdoor of a building and dumped the two bodies beside the man he'd accosted earlier that night.

It was easier than he'd expected to deal with the so called Death Eaters. He had to do little more than wear a long, black cloak that covered all of his features and mention a _master_ in a low tone and everyone assumed he was one of them.

He crossed to pick up the first man he'd jumped by the front of his robe. It was even easier to waylay them before they got to wherever they were going, but that was a method Kakashi only used when he was fortunate enough to come across one of them when there were no witnesses around.

He pulled back the man's sleeve and grimaced at the ugly black mark on his forearm—the serpent being swallowed by a skull—and drew his sword.

The man came to abruptly, screaming with pain a moment after Kakashi's blade cut cleanly through the layers of skin, muscle, and bone that made up his arm. The first time he'd killed one with his arm still attached, the man had burst into black flames, ruining his arm bracers and burning his own hands and forearms before he managed to staunch the fire that had spread to him.

Kakashi grabbed the man's face and forced his dilated eyes to meet with his own, the Sharingan uncovered. He would have to be quick, as it wouldn't take long for the man to bleed to death.

"**Genzou Genshu**," he muttered, allowing the chakra for his Genjutsu to move through the Sharingan rather than the hand seals he was accustomed to using. In an instant, the terror had drained out of the man's face, and he was staring blankly ahead, his features lax.

"Tell me about your master," Kakashi demanded, and the man, unable to resist, quickly began to speak in shaky, stumbling words. Kakashi had heard most of it before, but he soaked it in, regardless. Any small detail might prove to be important later.

He didn't need to help Dumbledore eliminate Voldemort, and he certainly didn't take orders from the man. At the moment, however, it seemed the crucial thing to do was to learn more about the other side of this impending war. It seemed he and Harry would be in the middle of it, no matter how they resisted, and Kakashi had no desire to be caught unaware.

* * *

Harry pressed his hand against the translucent barrier that prevented him from passing through the doorway of his room. It tingled against his flesh, and he knew if he held it there long enough he would be left with a bone-deep ache that throbbed for hours without relief.

Grudgingly, he pulled his hand away and narrowed his eyes, backing up several feet and bracing his arms together. The teen took a deep breath, and then ran straight at the doorway.

For a moment, he thought he felt it give under his shoulder, but then he suffered from the impression of running into a brick wall and pain shot through his shoulder and arm. He pulled back, cursing, and slammed the door shut again. It was useless trying to use the door as a means of escape—the barrier there was completely impenetrable.

Jumping onto his desk, Harry scowled out the window, even as a light breeze blew through the shattered glass and ruffled his hair. He'd hoped to use the window as an alternate means of escape—the drop had initially made him wary, but his room had shifted to a location on the second floor the day before and he'd felt bold enough to give it a try. Unfortunately, the window was protected by the same barrier that prevented him from escaping through the door.

"Shimatta," he growled, and crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall next to the window to think. His shoulder and hand were already beginning to ache, which distracted him a little, but Harry was on a mission. He had to get out of this room. After almost an entire week, he was going stir-crazy. He'd been filling up his time as well as he could, but his body was itching to really _move_.

Harry blinked, staring at the floor, then blinked again. Frowning, he slid off of the desk to land on the stone floor again. He knelt, running a hand along the cool stone, only absently aware that the wall had begun to glow again, marking the beginning of his next class.

"If magic is anything like chakra," he muttered, straightening, "Then wizards must avoid using it too freely. Why ward something that's already impossible to go through?"

Forming hand seals, Harry decided that he was truly lucky to have Konoha's Copy-Ninja as his brother. In whatever other ways his brother might have been lacking, he certainly was not ignorant when it came to Ninjutsu, and he had passed on his preference for diversity to his younger brother.

"_Just because you don't like where a jutsu comes from,"_ Kakashi had told him, before teaching him this particular jutsu, _"Is no reason not to add its strength to your own. If you can make use of everything around you, you will never come out at a disadvantage."_

It wasn't completely true, of course. Harry would never be able to use Earth Jutsu with the same expertise as a Rock-ninja with that affinity—and neither would Kakashi, probably. But having a knowledge of each element was certainly useful. Vowing to thank his brother for his lessons once they were out of this mess, Harry concentrated chakra into his attack.

"**Moguragakure no Jutsu**."

Abruptly the stone under his feet cracked and parted, forming a hole that threatened to swallow the boy alive. Gritting his teeth, Harry held the final sign of his jutsu as his feet began to sink, pieces of rock moving out of the way to make room for him.

It was more difficult than when he was standing on dirt, Harry realized. In the second that would have seen him thoroughly buried in the dirt, he had only sunk a foot into the stone, and was getting a little frustrated. The room hadn't slipped down to the basement levels without his noticing, had it?

And then, suddenly, the last of the broken rock gave way and instead of solid stone remaining beneath his feet, there was nothing. For a sickening instant Harry was there, almost floating and listening to the sound of pebbles rattling onto the floor of the room beneath him, and then he fell, his sides scraping against the rough sides of his escape-hole as he went.

Releasing the Jutsu, Harry landed in a crouch and quickly looked around himself. He straightened and looked up—already, the hole was sealing itself over as the jutsu completed itself. He smirked, that should keep the wizards busy for a while.

Harry took a moment to gain his bearings, reaching out with his senses for the chakra markers scattered around the castle to orient himself. He dusted off the fragments of stone clinging to his clothes and calmly walked to the door, the nearest exit firmly in mind.

* * *

Harry ran down the grass sloping away from the castle. It felt good to be able to stretch his legs, even if the cool morning air was too cold for his liking and stung at his lungs.

When he reached the forest he vaulted into the trees, using chakra to rebound from one trunk to the next until the branches became thick enough to safely support the force of his movements. He slowed down a little, jumping from branch to branch at an almost leisurely pace.

"I could… just leave," he muttered to himself. There wasn't really anything stopping him. Kakashi wasn't in the castle, but they should be able to find each other, somehow, and it wasn't as if the wizards had treated him well. He wouldn't mind leaving their world behind.

But… if it also meant he had to give up his world—give up on going back to Konoha… Harry didn't like the idea of that, either. He wanted to see everyone again—Tenzou; Inaho, Migaki and Hitsuya-sensei; Naruto…

He frowned a little. It had been a long time, he wondered how Naruto was doing. Despite his exuberant personality, the kid had trouble making friends. And he just got so _sad_ if he was left on his own too long.

Harry was pulled from his thoughts of home when he felt a chakra signature rapidly approaching him and he nearly tumbled from the branch he was about to jump from in surprise. It wasn't Kakashi; he reached for his kunai, realizing a moment too late that he wasn't wearing his pouch. He tensed, turning in the direction of the approaching unknown, only to blink as something small and brown dashed past him.

"Yo, Runt, I suggest running!" A rough, familiar voice shouted as it passed.

Harry didn't have to ask why; an entire squadron easily comprised of eight or nine spiders as tall as Harry and with legs even longer, were in close pursuit of the little dog. They moved between trees and across branches with the speed and ease of intimate familiarity, their powerful legs blasting through obstructions to their path.

Harry, happening to be one of those obstructions, was torn out of his shock when several of the creatures targeted him, pincer-mouths snapping and long limbs moving to spear him in place. Swiftly, the Genin jumped out of the way and took off after his brother's talking dog.

"Pakkun!" Harry snapped as he caught up to the pug, "This way!"

There was no reason to believe that getting out of the forest would do anything to hamper the progress of the pursuing spiders—which Harry now estimated as a dozen and a half—but the creatures were obviously comfortable in this environment and he and Pakkun might be able to find some sort of advantage in the open field closer to Hogwarts.

"Right!" The dog barked, veering to follow his path.

"What are those things?" Harry asked, "Why are they after you?"

"I'm not sure," Pakkun responded, "I ran into them on my way through the forest—they seemed to think I'd make a tasty snack. It figures Kakashi didn't bother to mention them."

"Where is Kakashi?" Harry pressed—he hadn't seen his brother in days—"Does he need me to do something?"

"Later, Runt," the dog grunted as a string of webbing shot in their direction; they both jumped away from each other, regrouping further along.

As the trees thinned and their branches became too weak to support Harry's weight, the dog and boy dropped to the ground, charging through the dense underbrush as though it wasn't even a hindrance. Even this close to the edge of the forest, the spiders showed no sign of giving up the chase.

Harry leapt through the last layer of bushes, daylight twinkling through the twisted branches on the other side, and spun as he landed some distance from the trees. His hands were already moving through seals.

"**Mizu Rappa**!"

Several spiders were caught in the rush of water that shot from Harry's mouth, and Harry felt a drain in his reserves, having created a larger stream of water than he'd meant to.

"They're still coming!" Pakkun warned, crouched at his side with the fur on his back standing on end.

Harry didn't need to be told; even as his jutsu died, more of the creatures were already pouring out after them. Harry grimaced—even with the ones he'd taken out, there were still at least a dozen remaining.

"They're just spiders," Harry said with a confidence he didn't particularly feel, "Let's squash them."

"You don't have your weapons," Pakkun reminded him, words rushed as the spiders closed on them, "In that case, we should... run!"

The dog followed his own advice as a spider loomed near enough to threaten him. The pug jumped and landed a vicious kick with his hind legs on the creature's face, using it as a springboard to start his mad dash for the castle.

Harry growled, but realized the dog was speaking sense. He dodged around a spindly leg to smash an uppercut into the soft underside of one spider's head, sending the creature sprawling back and tumbling into a second. Squaring his stance, Harry hit a second with a crescent kick and was almost knocked off his feet when the thrust of another grazed his back.

Recovering quickly, Harry snatched the offending appendage and jerked, loosing a howl as he used all of his might to swing the monstrous arachnid back towards the trees and its fellows. Without missing a beat, he raced after Pakkun before the remaining spiders could close in.

Harry overtook the dog on the stairs and slammed into the doors with his palms, wasting no time in groping for the handle and jerking one of the large doors open. He spun, yanking the door closed again without even taking the time to assure Pakkun was at his side.

A second later there was a series of thuds, and then an unsettling scrabbling sound as hard legs scratched against the wooden barrier. Harry watched warily, his breathing heavy, and hoped the door would hold under the abuse.

"They've become too confident since Hagrid left us."

Harry flinched at the unexpected voice and his eyes flashed to the side, finding Dumbledore standing some distance away, frowning at the still trembling doors.

"I suppose we will have to do something about them if he doesn't return soon," the old wizard added pensively, "It's surprising that they were bold enough to approach the castle."

Harry wasn't sure which threat was more immediately—the spiders or Dumbledore. He backed away from both to be safe, maneuvering so he could keep an eye on the wizard and the door simultaneously.

"Will the door hold?" Harry asked as another series of thuds rattled it in its frame.

"That door is protected by many wards," Dumbledore assured him, "We are quite safe, Harry." He finally looked from the door to the anxious teen, "Are you hurt?"

Harry shook his head, eyeing the wizard suspiciously.

"I must say, Harry, I was surprised you were able to escape through the floor." The wizard's gray eyes seemed bright behind his glasses, younger than Harry remembered seeing them before. "I didn't realize a ninja's—jutsus, isn't it?—were so versatile."

"There's a lot you don't know about shinobi."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed mildly, "I'm beginning to believe more things were kept from us than were divulged... You may be more fit to take care of Voldemort than I originally believed, Harry... although you still require more training in magic."

Harry scowled. "I'm _done_ with magic!" He snapped, "I'm not fighting Voldemort—or anyone else—for you! I'm going to find Kakashi and go home! Pakkun," he switched languages without pause, "We should leave."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond, but another voice cut him off.

"Yo, Runt," Pakkun interrupted, sounding annoyed, "If it's not too much trouble, I still have a message from Kakashi, remember?"

Harry continued to glare at the wizard. "What is it, Pakkun?"

"Right. Kakashi thinks it would be better to stay put a little while longer—he's found something... promising."

Blinking, Harry turned to stare at the little dog in surprise. "What?!"

Pakkun backed up a step, "Remember... I'm just the messenger..."

With a growl, Harry roughly grabbed for the dog; Pakkun just managed to jump out of the way with a startled yelp.

"Listen, you! There's no way I'm staying here any longer!" Harry snapped, "You can tell Kakashi _that_! I'll meet him anywhere, but—" with a second swipe he managed to catch hold of the blue cape that the dog wore and Pakkun released an abused whine.

"Harry," Dumbledore interjected from behind him, "Perhaps if you advise me on your... conversation, I can help you consider a more... peaceful alternative to strangling that... dog."

Pakkun's eyes widened innocently and his mouth trembled slightly. Harry sighed and dropped the dog, not concerned about giving him a gentle landing. He spun around, scowling at the intent looking wizard.

"I'll give my word, as a shinobi, not to attack anyone without provocation, but you can't expect me to... to tie my hands with those stupid rules you said before," he said irately, wincing as a recovered Pakkun clamped his jaws onto his shin. "For niisan it's different, you don't want to keep him here. I'm not going to tie myself up for _your_ sake, and I'm not going to be locked in that room again. If you don't agree, I'll leave, no matter _what_ Kakashi-nii has to say about it." He gave his leg a sharp shake, but Pakkun held fast, growling around his flesh.

"... I agree to your terms," Dumbledore said, meeting Harry's surprised eyes with his own gaze. "But instead of a shinobi's words, I want a wizard's promise."

"What's the difference?" Harry asked irritably, "I'm no more honest as a wizard than a shinobi. _Pakkun..._"

"A wizard's vow includes certain spells of compulsion that make it more difficult to break than an ordinary promise," Dumbledore explained, "It isn't as effective as a written contract, but if we want to proceed immediately, there isn't time to draft a new contract."

"... Fine," Harry relented, reluctantly accepting Dumbledore's hand.

The wizard extracted his wand with his other hand and held the tip to their joined hands, meeting Harry's eyes somberly. "Harry Hatake, do you promise not to attack anyone without provocation as long as you are at Hogwarts?"

Harry frowned at the odd wording, "Yeah... I guess."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"I mean... I promise," Harry said.

A thin tongue of flaming light issued from the wand's tip and twisted to circle around the two hands. Harry felt a tingle of apprehension down his spine as the red wire-like loop flared brightly before disappearing.

"I—"" Harry started, but was distracted from his train of thoughts when Pakkun's teeth ground against a particularly sensitive nerve. He swiped at the dog.

"Pakkun!" He growled again, switching back to the pug's language, "Let go, you stupid mutt! I'll skin you!" He reached for the pug again, but Pakkun finally released him, after grinding at his flesh one last time, and jumped out of the way.

"Kakashi's going to punish you when I tell him how you treated me!" The dog snapped.

"Not as much as _I'll_ punish _you_ if you don't disappear!" Harry threatened, resisting the need to scratch at his abused leg.

The dog executed an exaggerated bow, "As the Runt commands."

He poofed out of existence in a cloud of smoke, which was fortunate because Harry was ready to wring the little dog's neck. He didn't know how Kakashi put up with the smart-alecky dog. If he ever trained a pack, he _certainly_ wouldn't train a dog to talk.

"Harry... what was that creature?" Dumbledore asked after a moment.

"Pakkun," Harry answered, still annoyed, "Niisan's stupid pack leader or something."

"I... see," Dumbledore's tone didn't seem to convey the understanding of his words, but Harry didn't feel inclined to explain further. "Well... it seems we now have something to discuss. Please follow me to my office, we can decide how to reintegrate you with the student population."

* * *

After a meeting with his professors that evening, in which Harry was scrutinized with disapproval from everyone but Lupin, and given strict warnings to behave several times over, Harry was cleared for classes. He spent the night in the infirmary after Madam Pomfrey attended to the bruise on his back and the bite on his leg, and went to the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning.

He was later than usual, having been kept by the nurse for one final check over his injuries, so the room was already busy with student activity. No one noticed him, at first, but the farther into the room he went, the more eyes landed on him. Slowly, the conversations around the room went silent, until every eye was on him, watching as he crossed the room.

Feeling self-conscious despite his efforts to ignore the attention, Harry quickly made his way to his usual seat, only to pause when he was met by the cold, staring eyes of his classmates.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Ron asked, the first to break the silence.

Harry kept his face impassive, fighting the compulsion to cringe at the ugly tone. "I'm about to eat breakfast," he said, pushing his way between Neville—who squeaked and slid into the boy on his other side—and Ron to sit down.

"What the—?!" Ron spluttered in protest, jumping to his feet, "You can't just—what gives you the right to just walk in here and act like nothing ever happened! You're the guy that put Oliver and Angelina in the hospital!"

"If they'd stayed on the ground, I wouldn't have had to," Harry shrugged. "Besides," he reached for the serving spoon to dish out some scrambled eggs, "Madam Pomfrey healed them."

"That's…! That's not the point!"

Harry ignored him and shoveled a bite of eggs into his mouth.

"I think what Ronald is _trying_ to say," Hermione spoke up from across the table, lowering her newspaper slightly to peer across at the boys, "Is that decent people don't go around attacking friends and classmates. And they _especially_ don't go around _not_ feeling guilty afterwards."

"What should I feel guilty about?" Harry asked, "They brought it on themselves. Anyway, I've moved on so you should, too. You don't need to feel guilty about it, either—I know you didn't mean anything by your self-centered actions."

"Us?!" Ron exclaimed, and several of the other third years that were closest looked as offended as the red-head did. "Where do you get off turning this around to be _our _fault!"

"It's really nothing to get worked up about," Harry offered, "It's probably due to how you were raised. Wizards seem to be more concerned about themselves than anything else."

"Like you're any better," Hermione said, shooting a sharp glare at him, "Aren't you just worrying about yourself, too? You said you want out of all of this, right? But people are _dying_! For nothing more than standing up for the right and decent thing!"

She slapped her paper down in front of him—the picture in the upper left hand corner shifted between an image of two robed people, possibly a man and a wife, lying face down on a striped rug; a worried looking Fudge; and a dead man in a pool of blood, missing his left arm. His attention shifted to the headlines, which changed almost too fast for him to read them.

**Death Rate Associated to You-Know-Who Soar**, **Minister Assures Community of Action**, and **Slayer of Suspected Death Eaters, Identity Still Unknown**.

"People... should die," Harry said slowly—his classmates looked at him in disbelief. "In a time of war... of course people should sacrifice their lives for what they believe in. But—people should never be forced to lay down their lives for things they _don't_ believe in."

"But! Those people—" Hermione leaned over the table, looking up and down it anxiously, "I heard Fawcett, that is, Susan Fawcett in Ravenclaw, lost her father yesterday. She's been pulled out of school and everything. How is that _right_? How can you be alright with just _letting _it happen?"

"If you've read my story, you must know I've lost family members over and over again," Harry said dryly, "It's not the end of the world."

"Listen, Potter!" Ron exploded—Harry absently noted that they were back to a last name basis. "Maybe what happened to you as a kid was horrible, but that doesn't mean you can be such an insensitive jerk! Right now—a lot of people are losing family members and friends! Even if you don't want to be here... while you are here, can't you be with us—or at least not against us like you act all the time?!"

Harry scooped up his last bite of eggs and stood, feeling relieved to be done. "I am with you," he said coolly, before turning and walking out of the Hall.


	17. The Destroyer

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_.

So... yeah, there's an excuse as to why this is an entire week past due... but I'm trying to get away from using excuses, so I'll just say sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoy the new chapter! I'm still trying to get on top of reviews... I have a horrible review-reply habit of being too busy to answer at the time that I read them and then putting them off until I update (as you might have noticed). I will diligently work to get better at this, as I feel that if you take the time to review, you deserve at least a brief reply to show that I appreciate it...

There shouldn't be anything weird going on during the next update cycle, so expect chapter 18 on April 14. As always, if the update seems late or if you just want to check obsessively, I post the ETA of the next chapter on my profile. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 17 – The Destroyer

"Potter!" Malfoy's voice was a confused mixture of surprise, fear, and anger when he walked into the Potion's classroom.

"It's Hatake," Harry corrected without looking at the Slytherin.

There was an unnatural pause as the other boy apparently gathered whatever courage he needed to reply. Harry was mildly surprised that he managed something close to his usual snarky tone.

"They actually let you out? When my father finds out, he's not going to be happy. He said you should be sent to Azkaban for what you did, but the Minister said you were imprisoned elsewhere."

"I was released for good behavior," Harry said with disinterest. He was silent for a moment, but continued before Malfoy could retort. "I'm surprised you're out of the hospital already," this time he looked over his shoulder at the blond, his green eyes hard, "I must have missed your vitals..."

Malfoy didn't reply, but his face was pale as he backed to the other side of the room. Harry smirked, and Malfoy, looking a little sick, glared back.

"Don't think you've won, Hatake," Malfoy snapped, "When I tell my father... he'll make sure you never see civilized society again."

"If you're civilized, I'm not sure I want to," Harry retorted, turning away from the other boy. It seemed to him that he had won—the small battle that was Draco Malfoy, at least. After all, he'd just called him _Hatake_, again.

* * *

Slowly students became used to his presence, and by the end of the week Ron gave up shouting derogatory things at him over the dinner table. Most of the Ravenclaws stopped jumping every time they saw him in the classroom, although a number of Hufflepuffs still did.

For the most part, Harry was left to his own devices by his classmates. It finally snowed, and Harry made sure to get some extra hours training near the forest in the slippery white stuff—he'd never attempted Taijutsu in the snow before, and it was more challenging than he'd expected. He spent as much time as he could outside, because he could feel suspicious eyes continuously on him when he was in the castle.

The Gryffindor Common Room was the worst. Almost every one of his housemates glared or whispered when he passed through. Harry ignored it as well as he could and spent as little time as possible in the room.

Still, it could be worse. In fact, the students of Hogwarts could really learn a thing or two about oppression from the people of Konoha. He'd heard awful things about Naruto, his brother, and even himself. Compared to that, these wizarding kids were downright friendly. It helped to imagine how long they'd last in _his_ territory.

On the third day after his release back into the general population, Harry found himself again sitting across from Hermione at the breakfast table. He peered across at the front page of the paper the girl held in front of her face—she'd hardly said a word to him since he'd been out of confinement, and Harry reciprocated in like.

"_Death Eater Attacks Lessening, Authorities Say,"_ the headline read. Harry watched it change several more times, catching something about the Minister and a blurb about new safety precautions to be implemented at Gringotts. He frowned.

"Haven't there been any more of those attacks on Death Eaters?" He asked, "I would think those should be front page news."

Hermione's face appeared briefly as she glanced first at Harry, then at the front page of her paper. She shook her head, and lifted the paper between them again.

"The _suspected_ Death Eaters, you mean," she corrected frostily, "And since they died like that, we'll never know for sure... I haven't read anything about them for a few days now. Maybe they caught whoever was doing it."

Harry shook his head, "They couldn't have."

The paper lowered and Hermione peered at him suspiciously over the top of it. "You know who was—" she broke off, a crafty smile slowly crossing her lips. "I get it; it was your brother, wasn't it?"

Harry scowled, "I only meant that if they'd caught him, they would've said something in the paper."

"How do you know they didn't?" Hermione asked, "I didn't say that. It _was_ him, wasn't it?"

Harry hesitated, then shrugged, glancing at his plate and back up. "I don't actually _know_... I mean, he didn't say he was..."

"It makes sense," Hermione started, sounding excited and completely ignoring the boy's discomfort. "Someone who's viscous enough to attack a school full of children probably would be the kind of person who's capable of collecting the arms of the people he's killed. What I don't get is why he suddenly changed sides, though..."

Harry shot the girl an annoyed look. He was tired of this 'war' and being slotted into one side or the other when he didn't want anything to do with it in the first place.

"He didn't _change sides_! We aren't on anyone's side—we weren't during the Hogwarts attack, and we aren't now! We're only doing what we can for the best chance to get home!" He pinned the girl with a cold look, "You have friends and family, don't you? Wouldn't you want to get back to them as quickly as possible if you were taken away?"

Hermione didn't answer, her eyes flicking down, and Harry didn't wait for a reply.

"I'll see you in class," he said, leaving half of his breakfast on his plate. Hopefully, this sudden lack of activity didn't mean something had happened to Kakashi.

* * *

By lunch, it seemed everyone knew about what may or may not have happened to Harry's brother. Harry wanted to blame Hermione for the leak; she hadn't met his eyes once during morning classes, but realistically he knew it could have been anyone that had been sitting near them at the time.

"Hatake!" Malfoy was surrounded by his friends and wearing the arrogant smirk Harry had hoped he'd wiped off his face permanently as he stopped him just outside the doors of the Great Hall. "I heard Death Eaters got your brother. Serves him right, I say."

"Sorry, Malfoy, but you were misinformed," Harry said coldly. He moved to enter the great hall, but Malfoy wouldn't let the subject drop.

"I don't think so," he pressed, "He was the one in the paper, right? The murderer that suddenly disappeared."

Harry stood stiffly, listening against his better judgement.

"I bet You-Know-Who killed him," Malfoy continued vindictively, "Just like he killed your parents and those relatives you lived with—the Pugslies, was it? And you'll be next, _Potter_, the Dark Lord doesn't leave things half finished."

Harry's hands clenched at his sides and he wondered whether that counted as provocation, because he really wanted to see the blond's face at the end of his fist.

It was as if Malfoy could read his mind. "What's the matter, _Potter_, you want to hit me? Then do it, why don't you?" To his friends, he added haughtily, "My father said he signed a contract—we can do whatever we want and he can't do anything about it. Isn't that right, Potter?"

"... Not exactly," Harry said. Although his voice was quiet, it still stopped the laughter amongst Malfoy and his Slytherin friends. "Mine has a provocation clause. And I think you just broke it."

Before Malfoy could even finish the spluttering protest that was on the tip of his tongue, Harry rushed him, fist flying. The boy screamed, hands flying up to protect his face. At the last instant, Harry pulled, stopping his fist centimeters from Malfoy's flesh.

"As a shinobi, I really shouldn't waste my time on you," Harry turned to walk away, but carefully kept his attention on the group be hind him—he wouldn't let them hit him in the back again.

"Ha... Haha—" slowly, Malfoy found the nerve to laugh again, "It really _is_ true, isn't it? You can't touch me!"

Harry considered himself a level-headed person. With the exception of Uchiha Itachi, which was understandable, he didn't feel the need to fight unnecessarily like some of his peers. But even more than Itachi, Draco Malfoy unearthed something inside of him that _wanted_ to fight and to hurt.

At the same time, Harry felt a lack of will to fight the other boy. It wasn't worth the energy to hurt him, or even to scare him. Even though he knew that next time it would be worse, he still couldn't work up a good fighting spirit.

Harry blinked in surprise as he registered the line of thoughts that weren't—_couldn't_ be his own. He didn't think much of the mindless grudges and battles of some of his peers, but this had reason and necessity. He couldn't allow Malfoy to become bolder in his advances, so why...?

Clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes, Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it at the other boy, who abruptly stopped laughing. The lack of drive was still there, and something foreign inside Harry screamed that it would be a _very bad_ thing to attack the blond.

Harry listened, after a fashion, raising his wand so the red jet of energy hit the wall two meters above the Slytherin. Stones exploded and large chunks of rock rained down onto the unprepared boy and the students gathered around him.

The screaming and running blurred together at the edge of his field of vision as Harry kept his eyes pointedly on Malfoy, who was crouched in the middle of everything, blood in his hair and on his face, where his hands were clutched over his nose.

"You... you...!"

"As a wizard, I can be a vindictive bastard if I want," Harry said. He smirked, "Have I gotten a bit better at magic?"

Half the students who had been watching went for their wands, so Harry made a quick exit, slipping into the Great Hall where the watchful eyes of the professors would intimidate students into good behavior.

"That was a curse!" Hermione hissed, at his shoulder almost before Harry noticed her.

Harry shrugged and took a seat next to two second years, who quickly scrambled away, abandoning their plates.

"It's _dark_ magic!" Hermione added anxiously.

"So?" Harry asked, casually spooning food onto his plate.

"So?!" Hermione repeated incredulously, "It's _dark_, Harry—evil! Things like that, they kill a little of your soul; how do you think You-Know-Who got as bad as he is?"

"From what I hear, some people are born rotten," Harry shrugged, "Besides, Madam Pomfrey can fix something like that easily. If I hadn't shown Malfoy I was still dangerous, things would have escalated too quickly and I might have had to kill him." He frowned, "And why are you talking to me, anyway? You hate me, remember?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond when the doors burst open and an angry Potion's master stormed through, his eyes immediately landing on Harry.

"Mr. Hatake!" The man's voice, which was always quiet, even in anger, rang through the room, bold and loud and _furious_.

Harry stood and turned to face him, but didn't reply, waiting silently as the man made his way across to him. Several of the teachers at the table were making their way down, as well, their expressions worried, confused, and a bit apprehensive.

"Severus, what is it?" McGonagall asked as they converged on the teenager.

Snape looked livid, dark eyes pinned on Harry. He didn't reply to his fellow teacher, instead confronting the Genin directly.

"What the hell were you thinking, you little bastard?" His voice was quiet again and had a threatening edge to it that even Harry conceded sounded a bit dangerous.

"Severus!" McGonagall gasped in surprise. Again, her interruption was ignored.

Snape continued and Harry found it difficult to focus on his words because suddenly his head was aching and he couldn't quite figure out why. It wasn't the usual throbbing from his scar, but seemed to be something _deeper_.

"I told Dumbledore it was too dangerous to let you mix with the other students again, and look at what happened. Tried to finish the job, did you?"

It was such a ridiculous accusation and Harry couldn't think straight; he wasn't able to hold back a short laugh. Did this man honestly think _that_ had been a murder attempt? Death Eater or not, he obviously hadn't seen enough killers—and Harry's head _hurt_!

"Severus, that's enough," McGonagall said severely, "You need to—" the crack of flesh on flesh interrupted her and she made a startled sound, the teachers gathered behind her sounding just a shocked.

Hermione let out a squeak of fear and Harry's eyes were wide with surprise. The stinging pain in his cheek seemed to have dispelled his headache, at least, and with his mind clear he found it even harder to believe what had happened. Did he just let a civilian _hit_ him?

"Now see here!" McGonagall exclaimed, pulling Harry away from Snape by the boy's arm. Harry was too confused to protest immediately. "How _dare_ you lay a hand on one of my students!"

It took a moment longer for the situation to sink fully into Harry's rattled mind, but when he heard the woman's words, he laughed again, a rough, derisive sound. He shook off her hands. "Your student? Last week you didn't want anything to do with me!"

He turned to meet Snape's eyes, his own green glinting dangerously. "Okay, Snape, you have my attention. You'd better make good use of it before I break that hand of yours."

"So you'll give me a warning, but you brutally attack a thirteen-year-old boy for nothing more than a petty insult?" Snape demanded, expression even harder.

Harry scowled. "I didn't _attack_ him over an _insult_. And Malfoy knew exactly what he was getting into. In fact, he knew some things that shouldn't have been known by anyone but the staff here."

"And that makes it better?" Snape demanded, "It's obvious that whatever Dumbledore made you promise didn't have the intended effect—"

Harry wasn't aware of what the Potion's master said after that because he felt a sudden spike of pain in his head. Harry winced and faltered a step backwards, one hand instinctively moving to his head as memories flickered haphazardly in front of his eyes.

Dumbledore's neck under his brother's kunai. Blood spraying as he sparred with Migaki. Pakkun running past him in the forbidden forest with monstrous spiders on his tail. Tenzou's scared eyes peering out at him, the older boy safely ensconced in the trunk of a tree. Dumbledore appearing behind them just inside the school doors. Naruto's frightened face as he found himself cornered by villagers. Dumbledore grasping his hand and placing the tip of his wand against the conjoined flesh. His uncle screaming at him for a knife as flames lit up the family room—_and this isn't real!_

"**Kai!**" Harry managed, releasing his chakra in a sudden burst. He opened his eyes to find Snape stumbling back a step. Harry's eyes narrowed in realization and he rushed at the other man before he could regain his balance.

"Harry!" Dumbledore's voice boomed from the doors.

Setting his jaw, Harry moved quickly to plunge his kunai into the man's kidney, but his action was aborted part way through when his body and Snape's were suddenly torn apart by an immaterial force.

Harry landed hard on the stone floor, but popped up again quickly, glaring around him and clutching his kunai in white-knuckled fingers. The black blade was slick with dark blood, drops falling onto the stone floor.

"Harry, please go to my office," Dumbledore said, striding across the room towards the group of staff where Snape was bleeding over the floor.

Harry considered arguing, but he slowly became aware of the tense atmosphere all around him. Whatever Snape had done, it was over now. Without a word of acknowledgement, Harry spun and left the room.

* * *

Harry slumped into the chair on the guest side of the desk in Dumbledore's office, his mind still back in the Great Hall.

What had Snape done to him?

He was sure that what had happened was because of something the Potion's master had done. He hadn't used a wand, though, so was it really a form of magic?

Or had it been some sort of Genjutsu? The same technique had dispelled it, but he couldn't believe that Snape was a ninja, and Kakashi would have said something if Snape had that kind of chakra.

More importantly, had Snape seen into the same memories he'd been watching?

Harry had never experienced any of the mind invasion techniques of the Yamanaka clan, but he'd felt something in his head. He couldn't say it was Snape, or another consciousness at all—if it was, he hadn't been aware of it in the same way that it had obviously looked into him—but he was sure he'd felt _something_ break into his head, and since there wasn't a physical injury, he had to assume it had been on a mental level.

In which case the important question became: what had Snape seen, exactly, and what could he learn from it?

Harry forced himself to go over the details of what had happened. Everything had been flashing through his mind so quickly that he wasn't completely sure what all he had seen. At least, he wasn't sure exactly what had preceded that flash of the Dursleys, a memory he had learned to face in his nightmares.

Despite it being his worst memory, the day the Dursleys died was also the one he was most adept at facing, presumably because he had so much practice. He was glad that it had surfaced when it did, because in retrospect the painful shuffling of his memories must have meant Snape was looking for something in particular, and it was that memory that had given him the state of mind he needed to break free.

Gritting his teeth, Harry shut his eyes to increase his focus. He needed to remember _everything_ Snape had seen. Hopefully it wouldn't be anything that could put the village at risk.

* * *

Harry was startled out of his reflection when the door opened. He looked up at Dumbledore as he entered—the old wizard looked tired; his shoulders were slumped under the garishly green robes and his expression was unusually somber.

"You attacked Mr. Malfoy in the halls..."

"Yes," Harry confirmed, because with all the witnesses, he couldn't deny it. "Not directly... and I used magic." Somehow, it seemed like that should lessen the offense. After all, Malfoy was also a wizard; he'd put his attack on a level the other boy should have been able to defend against.

"Your promise prevents you from attacking without provocation, so I won't pretend to think Mr. Malfoy didn't do anything to insight your wrath, but I wish you had controlled yourself better, Harry." The disappointment in the man's voice irritated Harry. As though Dumbledore had the right to expect anything from him.

"Malfoy's the kind that keeps pushing and pushing until you want him dead," he said coldly, "If I 'controlled' myself this time, he would've done worse until I did to him what I did on the Quidditch Stadium all over again—or worse. I assumed you wouldn't want that."

"No," Dumbledore agreed mildly and let the subject drop. "You also attacked Professor Snape. When I walked in, you looked like you were about to kill him. Minerva said that he struck you, but what I saw wasn't in response to that, was it?"

Harry scowled, "He attacked my mind."

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows rose at least three centimeters each.

"You can't deny it!" Harry snapped defensively. "I don't know how he did it, but he did! I felt it—he was looking at my memories!"

"I do not doubt you, Harry," Dumbledore placated, "Severus is a very skilled Legilimens, which is a way some wizards can read the emotions and memories on other's minds using eye contact. For both Legilimens and Occlumency, the defense against it, the wizard must extensively train up his mind. I was merely surprised that you recognized the intrusion and expelled it without any training."

"Shinobi train their minds, too." Harry said defensively. And he'd had to train his mind more than its fair share in his preparations to fight Itachi. Kakashi hadn't gone easy on him with his Sharingan.

"Still, this is more good news," Dumbledore continued, "Voldemort is also a talented Legilimens. He would almost certainly break into your mind if he could."

Harry didn't want to hear about how well suited he was to fight Voldemort. "Have you heard from Kakashi recently?"

It took a moment for the wizard to answer. "I believe the last I heard was what you told me that his small dog said."

For a long moment Harry was silent. He had hoped that Dumbledore would know what his brother was up to and prove his worries wrong. Finally, he nodded.

"Is there anything else you wanted to say?" Harry prompted disinterestedly, standing.

"There is one other thing," Dumbledore said, standing as well and meeting Harry's eyes with a keen gaze. "About hexes."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Granger told me. They're 'evil'..." He met Dumbledore's gaze and added with a defiant smirk, "You can't expect me to kill someone without being a little 'dark'."

"I understand," Dumbledore said, his expression revealing nothing of whatever his real thoughts on the matter were. "I only have this to say... Be careful. The spells themselves could be said to be neither good nor evil; everything depends on the intentions of those who use them. While I don't believe you meant to kill Mr. Malfoy today, you must be cautious of your intention when you cast a curse. The more anger or hatred you feel when you use it, the more damage the curse will cause."

He was silent for a moment and Harry was beginning to feel uncomfortable under his gaze. A tingling sensation in his mind nagged at his senses and he quickly broke eye contact, remembering what Dumbledore had told him about Legilimency. The man smiled faintly.

"I don't think I need to tell you that 'dark' begets darkness. No matter what your intentions are, you must already know that every time you harm someone, your soul becomes a little darker and it becomes a little easier the next time."

"... Of course I know that," Harry grumbled with irritation, "The more you fight, the less it bothers you to fight. But we shinobi aren't so casual with our 'souls' as you seem to believe." Harry scowled, "There's still a big difference between being able to harm others in self-preservation and attacking... because you like it."

"You might be surprised," Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry glanced at him sharply—the tone suggested experience, but he could be reading too much into it. He looked away again just as quickly, "That's all, right?"

He didn't see whether the man nodded or not, but Harry took his silence as confirmation. He turned and left.

* * *

"It's no good, Hokage-sama," Inoichi said, turning his back on the unconscious Uchiha. "It's as if his life started only three months ago."

The older shinobi frowned, his eyes lingering on Uchiha Ryoga. "There's no sign of his memories, you're saying?"

"None at all," the Yamanaka replied. "Normal amnesia always leaves traces, but there's nothing like that in Ryoga-san."

"... His nurses said he was improving," Sarutobi said tiredly. He'd hoped that meant the man's memories would return.

"The brain damage itself was minimal," Inoichi said, "It was more that everything—even language and basic motor skills—had been wiped clean. I suspect the only reason he seems to be recovering is because his mind is learning how to use the things his muscles already know how to do. The body remembers how to make sounds and certain movements all by itself, his mind just needs to learn why those things were significant."

"In that sense," Inoichi continued, "He should make a timely recovery. But I don't believe his memories will ever be recovered."

"I see," Sarutobi said somberly, "Then it is both better and worse than we feared."

* * *

Harry stared into the depths of the foggy, crystalline ball, watching as insubstantial shapes formed and deformed, and trying to ignore the heavy smell of perfumes that saturated the air.

"... I don't see anything," he reported at length. The class was ridiculous and Harry still didn't see why it was even included on the syllabus, even after three full months of the subject. If Dumbledore thought this woman could convince him of the relevance of a 'prophecy' on his life, the old wizard was farther gone than he'd suspected.

"That's fine, dear," Professor Trelawney assured him, one spidery hand moving to touch his head before it aborted its course. The woman was always touching her students—except Harry, who didn't mind missing out. "Some will never See, although I believe that even those gain something through understanding the art of the Inner Eye."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who had deemed to sit at his table with him today, for whatever reason. The girl rolled her eyes and Harry's lips twitched, almost smirking. Most of his classmates found the subject as pointless as Harry, but none more so than Hermione.

"I understand," Harry assured the teacher blandly.

She smiled, "I knew you would. Despite your lack of Insight, you seem to understand the subject more deeply than most."

Harry nodded stiffly and wondered how the woman could believe that. As far as he was aware, he'd never expressed any belief that anything she taught was more than rubbish.

"_I don't dream,"_ he'd reported when they'd been made to keep journals. _"I see nothing," _had been his standard response when asked about tea leaves—he'd fallen back to it for the crystal ball segment of the class, as well. It was a waste of time, and he wasn't sure why he still attended at all—which was a lie, really.

Harry couldn't stand thinking about the possibility of something in the class providing the much-needed key to returning home while he _missed_ it. He needed to know everything he could about magic and wizards.

"_Knowing your enemy is the first step to defeating him,"_ Hitsuya-sensei had drilled into the heads of him and his teammates over and over again, and even Kakashi and Tenzou had repeated the sentiment once or twice.

So, as ridiculous as the class was, Harry couldn't just pass it up, because it just _might_ hide that grain of knowledge he needed to make things right. Once he was back in Konoha, though, he was sure he'd never even think about divination—or magic in general—again.

"Class is adjourned," the woman announced in her dreamy tone. "Please complete your essay on the prophecies of Madame Anora Strange for Wednesday—and a sick plant is no excuse for not completing your homework, Mr. Longbottom."

The class filed out of the room, talking and chatting carelessly, and Harry followed them down the rope ladder, although he forewent using the ladder itself.

"Harry," Hermione's voice reached him before he could break off from the group and he paused, looking back at the girl. "I..." she trailed off, shifting nervously with cheeks flushed pink.

"I'm not going to apologize if that's what you want," Harry said sharply, "I don't regret anything."

"I'm not... I mean..." she didn't seem quite able to get past the first few words of any given sentence. Harry raised an eyebrow.

Hermione huffed, her cheeks blazing. "Never mind!" She said quickly, and hurried past him. Harry stared after her, frowning bemusedly.

It was times like these that he wished he understood the female mind a little better, like his brother. Kakashi always seemed to know what everyone was thinking, even the members of the opposite sex. Harry supposed it had something to do with his choice of reading material.

Shaking his head, Harry turned to leave in the other direction—he wouldn't be going back to the common room for a few more hours, at least. He stopped, blinking in surprise to find Professor Trelawney suddenly in front of him.

Harry waited for her to say something, but the witch didn't even seem to be looking at him. Her eyes were a little unfocused and her expression was unusually blank, mouth sagging open a little. Harry wondered if the fumes she poured into her classroom were beginning to get to her.

"Excuse me," he muttered, moving around her, but the woman's thin arm suddenly snapped out, the long fingers of her hand wrapping around his arm.

Harry's heart hammered with a sudden rush of adrenaline, but he held back the instinct to cut through the offending appendage with the kunai he'd drawn, wondering what was going on as he searched her face with growing apprehension—her eyes were beginning to roll around in their sockets.

"Professor," he started again, hoping his voice would at least break her out of whatever was happening.

"The Destroyer will be taken..." Although the voice issued from Trelawney's mouth, the rough, grinding tone was nothing like the witch's usual spacey speech.

"What—?" Harry started, but the woman continued, talking right over him like he didn't exist or she hadn't heard his voice.

"Bound in chains, he will go willingly. The Dark Lord will see, then... but he will not understand. But beware; if he learns of the warrior's way... he will be... unstoppable..." Her grip slackened and Harry broke away, staring at the woman in confusion.

Abruptly, every muscle in the woman's body went slack and she collapsed. Out of instinct, Harry caught her, and he stood frozen for a moment, the witch's thin frame in his arms, not sure what to do. He was ready to haul her off to the infirmary when she suddenly shifted again.

"... Mr. Hatake...?" Trelawney looked up at him, her eyes focused once again and swimming with confusion.

"Sorry," Harry apologized awkwardly, steadying the woman on her feet, "You... fell."

Trelawney frowned, her head tilting slightly, "Oh? Strange, I... I don't remember. Did you want to tell me something, my dear?"

Harry stared at her silently a moment longer and shook his head. "I have to go," he muttered, quickly taking off down the hall.

* * *

He was feeling distracted when he returned to the common room late that evening. For some reason, the Divination teacher's words had really disturbed him, even though they didn't make any sense.

Even though it had been nonsense, he couldn't shake the feeling that it meant something, and he'd been agonizing over what that something could be all evening as he tried to pound it out of his head along with his pent up energy in the forbidden forest.

Things like, who was 'The Destroyer'? Was that supposed to be him? Or Voldemort? Or someone else all together?

Then again, the 'Dark Lord' was almost definitely Voldemort. So what would he 'see' but not 'understand'? And what about the 'bonds of chain'? Were they literal or figurative? If it was the latter, Harry felt pretty much chained to Hogwarts, could that be what it referred to? Did it mean he would go along with the wizards' plan for him just like that?

Harry couldn't accept that explanation. Then there were the 'warriors'—ninja?—was Voldemort going to learn about Chakra?

Harry was literally pulled from his thoughts by Hermione, who tugged him to a lonely corner of the room, away from the accusatory stares of the other students that Harry was slowly becoming used to. He didn't like them, he didn't think anyone could ever _enjoy_ being looked at in that manner, but he was growing to expect it. He blinked in surprise and shook off the girl's hands.

"What is it, Granger?" He snapped irritably. He already had enough on his mind and he didn't need the precocious young witch adding to his headache.

"Harry, I... I want to help you!" The girl blurted at last.

Harry blinked and frowned at her, "What?" He honestly had no idea what she was talking about.

"I wasn't really thinking before. Or maybe I was and I just didn't understand what you were saying. And maybe I just didn't _want_ to understand," the stream of words poured from the girl's lips so quickly that Harry had a hard time even following what it was she was saying.

"It's just that it isn't right. I want you to help in the war just as much as everyone else, but not like this. You shouldn't be made to help us like a—like a slave or a weapon or something! You're a person, Harry, even if you sometimes do destructive things, and it isn't right for us to force you to help with our problems. I'd rather we fight ourselves and fail than force you into submission and—"

"Enough!" Harry couldn't take it anymore. He thrust his hand over the girl's mouth.

Hermione made a sound of surprise, but it was muffled by the boy's hand.

"I can't understand _what_ you're saying," Harry said dryly, "Just say it plainly and without all those extra words."

Hermione blinked, staring at him, and Harry slowly removed his hand.

"I want to—"

"Hermione!" The two teens looked up at the third voice. Harry returned the frown of Ron Weasley, supported by Seamus and Dean, with Parvati and Lavender standing close behind them. Hermione's face flushed even redder than it had been.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" The red-head's voice was as hostile as his expression, switching between the boy and girl.

"W-well..." Hermione glanced at Harry anxiously, then back to her other classmates.

Harry scowled, "It's none of your business, Weasley."

"You tried to kill all of us!" Ron accused, his face red with anger, "So it's our business, too, if Hermione's... _involved_ with you again!"

"Consorting," Parvati added behind him with a shrewd look at Hermione.

"We aren't...! It's not like that!" Hermione exclaimed quickly, her face nearly as red as Ron's.

"Besides," Harry interrupted, "I didn't try to kill any of you—if I had, you'd be dead."

"You sure tried to kill _Malfoy_," Seamus said darkly.

"That's business between me and him," Harry stated coolly, "If he doesn't complain about it, you don't have any right to."

"If he doesn't complain, then it's because he's too scared," Parvati snapped.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "As if any of you really _care _what happens to Draco Malfoy," she groused, "The way you always complained about him, someone might think you wanted him dead, too."

"That's not the point," Ron said, "He's still a Hogwarts student, even if we don't like him, we don't want someone like _him_ killing him!"

"How admirable," Harry commented wryly.

"You...! Just stay away from Hermione, got it!" Ron snapped, "The Headmaster might want you here, but _we_ don't! We were all better off when you were locked up!"

"You realize you're talking about the guy you all think is supposed to save you," Harry said blankly, "That's no way to get on my good side."

Ron made a nasty face, "Course not, 'cause you don't _have_ a good side!"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Like I haven't heard _that_ before—a third year Academy student could have done better."

While he might not have understood the reference, Ron obviously knew he'd been insulted. Eyes narrowing, he thrust a hand into his robes for his wand.

"Stop it!" Hermione cried, quickly pushing her way between the two boys, who seemed to have gotten closer and closer to each other during the exchange. "Ronald... Harry... don't you remember what it was like _before_ that day? Rona—Ron, you and Dean and Seamus taught Harry to play Quidditch, didn't you?"

The boy's expression didn't change, still glaring at the white-haired boy through Hermione.

"And Harry hasn't really changed since then, he just—"

"Hasn't changed?!" Ron burst, "He blew up the Quidditch Stadium! How much more different can things get! You can't seriously expect us to act like none of that happened!" Their classmates behind him added their agreement.

"No, it's not like nothing happened," Hermione agreed. "But if you try to understand... or at least think of this," she offered, changing tactics at the hostile expressions on the other teens' faces, "Harry's violent, and he doesn't think about things the way we do, but he didn't want to come here and he doesn't want to stay here now. He's done some drastic things because of that, and I certainly don't approve of them... but isn't he still better than someone like—like You-Know-Who?"

For a long moment everyone was silent. At last, it was Seamus who spoke.

"You know... I don't know that he is," the sandy-haired boy said coldly.

Hermione made a frustrated noise. "You five are impossible!" She huffed before turning and storming in the direction of the girl's dormitories. Parvati and Lavender exchanged a quick look before hurrying after her.

"... Just stay away from Hermione," Ron said again, with the air of finality, before he turned his back on the Genin, moving away again with his friends.

Harry rolled his eyes and headed out of the Gryffindor tower. He couldn't head to bed like this and he wasn't about to hang around any longer than he had to.

* * *

Kakashi was in Dumbledore's office when the man returned after dinner. The young man's stance was casual and he stood, stroking Fawkes's feathers and gazing at the bird almost lazily, his single eye half-lidded. He didn't look up at Dumbledore's entrance, but the soft conversation he'd apparently been holding with the Phoenix died out quickly.

"Mr. Hatake," Dumbledore said, recovering quickly from his surprise. "We've been concerned, you have been out of contact for some time now."

"I've been busy," Kakashi said absently, still not turning to look at him. "You might be interested in some of the things I've learned."

"Oh?" Dumbledore questioned, one white eyebrow raised speculatively.

"It seems someone's been trying to recruit giants," Kakashi said mildly, "I met some of them... they would certainly fall under your definition of... _dark_ creatures."

"Professor Snape has kept us alerted to Voldemort's activities on that front," Dumbledore said, walking across to his chair.

"They were very eager to kill me when I met them," Kakashi added, "I couldn't understand them very well, but it seemed like they wanted to eat me."

"Many giants are quite dangerous," Dumbledore agreed.

Kakashi nodded, "That's why it seemed strange to me that someone who claimed to be upholding the best interests of wizards and the forces of 'light' would want to ally themselves with such bloodthirsty beings. But I suppose any means to an end. Isn't that how you justified your work with the late dark wizard Grindelwald?"

Dumbledore didn't reply, but stiffened in his seat.

"It's really too bad that your sister became a casualty of your cause," Kakashi continued, "Even in your wizard society, most people seem to consider family as their strongest bond. I wonder what you'll sacrifice this time around? Is that why you dragged my brother into this? Because you don't have any more sisters?"

"... My sister's death was a terrible tragedy," Dumbledore said gravely, "And one I have spent the better part of my life repenting for. If you've learned so much about me, you must have realized that."

"People never leave their youth as far behind as they like to think," Kakashi said, still looking at the Phoenix, although his hand had fallen to his side. "You were quick enough to embrace your 'dark arts' then, what's to say you won't turn again? It seems to me that, by your own definition, you've been behaving rather _darkly_."

"The actions I have taken are only as extreme as they must be," Dumbledore said calmly, "In my youth... I will admit, I experienced some wild years, Mr. Hatake, and I doubt that you could claim anything else. However, I learned from my mistakes; it was a lesson that cost me dearly, and I would hope to never repeat such mistakes. I have no wish to sacrifice your brother or yourself, but Voldemort must be stopped. Like Grindelwald, he is too dangerous to allow to rise to power."

"It sounds as though you're trying to justify things," Kakashi finally turned to look at the man, "I wonder if people would be so quick to trust you if they knew about your own dark past. In Konoha, someone who has once been a traitor would never be trusted to a position of importance again."

"Perhaps our society is more forgiving than yours."

"Perhaps," Kakashi agreed, "But I doubt it. Would you like to know what else I learned? There's more you know, people like to tell me things." Especially while they were under the influence of a Genjutsu or physical stress.

"So, what do you want?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly, "Do you want to sully my name and weaken Voldemort's opposition everywhere? Those that trust me will do so regardless of what you say to them."

"That's one possibility," Kakashi said, "But I'm willing to bet that you'd lose the majority of the support among the people. What would happen if you lost your position here? Maybe your replacement would think more kindly of letting us go."

Dumbledore regarded the young man across from him intently. It wouldn't be of much use to wonder where he'd gotten the information he had, although Dumbledore was a little wary on the subject of how he had obtained it—the few who knew such details of his past were loyal friends and would have been reluctant to part with the information. Still, the man had learned of it somehow, and now he was faced with another setback.

Kakashi's prediction could very easily come true. He may have reformed of his past, but wizards were, as a people, very slow to forgive and forget. If they learned just how involved he was in Grindelwald's rise to power, things could become much more difficult.

It wasn't so hard to believe that Kakashi might stoop to such sabotage, either. Even though it wouldn't benefit him as much as he seemed to hope, he would likely try anything.

"... What do you want, Mr. Hatake?" Dumbledore asked again, his tone resigned. He'd have to talk his way out of this.

"Tell me how to get home," Kakashi demanded.

"... Very well. You require a portkey, like I told your brother," Dumbledore said, "But only I know of the coordinates to which it must be issued."

"Tell me," Kakashi demanded again.

"I have already answered your question. I believe it is time for you to do a favor for me."

"That game ended a long time ago," Kakashi retorted coldly, "We're playing a new one now. If you don't want the entire wizarding community to know your two-faced history, I suggest you cooperate."

"Ah, but it is you who must cooperate with me, if you wish me to give you the coordinates to your home," Dumbledore said.

"..." Kakashi stared at him blankly for several long seconds. He smiled, his eye curving above his mask, "I suppose it depends which one of us has the greater reason to fear failure."

"I suppose," Dumbledore agreed mildly. "Do you want to return to your village more than I want the mistakes of my past to remain hidden?"

"I can always find my own way to the village," Kakashi said confidently, although given his track-record it seemed like it would take a long time. "If a foreigner like you managed to find it, it shouldn't be that difficult."

"We shall see how you make out without me, then."

Kakashi scowled under his mask, not allowing the expression to reach his eyes. It was always annoying when the pressure went both ways. What it really came down to was which one of them could hold out longer. He could tell the world that Dumbledore had practiced what they considered 'dark magic' when he was young. Dumbledore could be kicked out of his office, a considerable threat to any man. But that didn't mean he'd give in and tell them the coordinates.

"Perhaps we can reach an agreeable compromise," Dumbledore offered after a long moment. "The coordinates are made up of three numbers. Do three things for me, and I will give you one of the numbers for each task you complete."

Kakashi eyed him distrustfully, "What will ensure that you don't go back on your word once I do what you demand?"

"Name any promise you'd like."

"... I want you to sign a contract, like the one you gave me," Kakashi said decisively.

Dumbledore regarded him somberly for a long moment before slowly nodding. "Very well. I will have it drawn up."

"I will give you the words to use," Kakashi added sharply.

"... As you say," the wizard agreed, "I look forward to working with you again, Mr. Hatake."

"If you go back on your word," Kakashi added, his single black eye filled with a dangerous light as he pulled out his trump, "I'll kill your brother."


	18. Cat and Mouse

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I ate too many jelly beans last weekend, although that really has nothing to do with _Naruto_ and _Harry Potter_, which I do not own and have not eaten.

This chapter was a pain because I had it all written out before realizing that one of the characters I was introducing couldn't be here. So I had to scrap a third of the chapter or so and rewrite with a different character. Kudos if you guess who.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I think I've almost gotten through all of your replies. I will tirelessly work through the remaining ones tonight. Next chapter should be up on April 28. Hope you enjoy chapter 18!

Chapter 18 – Cat and Mouse

Harry's feet crunched on the icy surface of a fresh blanket of snow until he leapt, bending his legs as his feet touched off on the slippery trunk of a tree. He springboarded off of it to destroy the thick branch a meter up the trunk of a neighboring tree. He landed, his feet slipping for half a second as he compensated with a barely controlled burst of chakra.

Exhaling a foggy breath, Harry spun, drawing a kunai from his pouch and raising it for a throw when his arm suddenly jerked back with resistance. Heart pounding, Harry quickly glanced over, only to find his shirt had caught on a scraggy tree branch.

Rolling his eyes, he smacked the branch away and took a moment to remind himself what it was he was doing—the interruption had drained some of his adrenaline and he needed all he could get to manage the quick reactions that maneuver required. Deciding to begin again—the movement would get his blood pumping—he started to move forward, only to find himself snagged by a handful of branches again.

Scowling with irritation, Harry drew a second kunai and slashed at them. Looking too much like a black, emaciated hand, another winter-bared branch suddenly sprang forward, the long, thin branches at its end reaching for his hand. Her jerked back barely in time, the ends of the twigs scratching bloody lines on his arm.

A backwards step only pushed him into the reaching fingers of more grasping branches, and the twigs grabbed at him, scratching and restraining and looking more like long, spindly hands by the instant.

Harry struggled, his mind racing with confusion. He'd trained here tons of times, as evidenced by the scarred trunks and splintered wood, so why was this happening all of a sudden?

Dozens of 'hands' were on him now, containing his attempts to break free and preventing him from even moving his hands together for a seal. Harry continued to struggle, but the grip on him was strong and he could barely move any of his limbs.

Cold fear settled in his stomach as the rough, finger-like twigs of another 'hand' scraped across his vulnerable throat and began to curl around it. Harry panicked.

He managed to break his right hand free with a desperate surge of strength, but the haphazard swing of his kunai never reached the branch that was beginning to tighten around his neck, because half a dozen more shot out to grab him again, twisting his arm painfully until his fingers could no longer maintain their grip. His kunai hit the ground with a hollow _thunk_.

His lungs gasped for air and his vision began to blur.

_Stay calm, Harry!_ He shouted desperately at himself, _There's a way out—I can find a way if I just stop panicking!_

His knees went weak underneath him and Harry collapsed to the forest floor, the branches moving with him, grips adjusting only slightly and never loosening as he fell.

Harry's right hand landed near his hip, where the thin shaft of his wand had been shoved part way out during the conflict. His fingers automatically curled around the smooth wood, mind struggling to focus as dark spots interrupted his vision. If he could remember that spell...!

Suddenly, the grasping branches were gone and Harry was lying on his stomach in the snow, breathing heavily with a light sheen of sweat on his brow and his fingers still clutching at his wand.

_What...?_

"Yo." Harry blinked at the familiar voice, then frowned, the downturn of his lips slowly turning into a scowl as his heart gradually slowed and the abrasive cold against his skin began to register.

"I really hate you, niisan," he growled, and moved to push himself up. Kakashi grabbed his arm—which no longer bore the scratches it had obtained seconds before—and hauled him to his feet. Harry glared at him and began brushing off the snow that clung to him, his hands trembling slightly from the cold.

"I'm hurt, otouto," the man said, although neither his tone nor the amused curve of his eye suggested that he was. "I've been training. Think my Genjutsu is any better?"

"I don't think you _need_ to get it any better," the Genin grumbled as he tried to rub feeling back into his freezing forearms. He really needed some winter clothes, but Dumbledore hadn't offered and he hadn't asked. Glancing across at Kakashi, Harry's scowl deepened—the young man was wearing a thick black jacket over his usual clothes, a winding blue scarf, and had replaced his sandals with a pair of rubber coated boots.

"Where'd you get the clothes?"

Kakashi glanced down, brushing a clump of snow from his sleeve. He shrugged, "They weren't being used."

Harry started in surprise, his nose wrinkling in distaste, "You didn't take them off a dead guy... did you?"

"Don't be sordid," Kakashi said disapprovingly—Harry noticed he hadn't refuted the accusation. "Anyway, I was getting cold. It's never like this in Fire Country. I suppose you're used to it, though."

"How could I be used to this!" Harry snapped in disbelief, "It's _freezing _out here! I can't even _feel_ my toes anymore!"

"You should wear heavier clothing," Kakashi advised somberly, "You wouldn't be so cold, then... or cranky."

Harry glowered up at the man, "I'm _cranky_ 'cause you pushed me in the snow! And I don't have heavier clothing—not besides my robes, which aren't exactly great for training."

"I could get you some," the Jounin offered casually.

"No thanks," Harry groused, crossing his arms and turning towards the edge of the forest, "I don't want to wear anything someone died in. It's creepy."

"You're being sordid again," Kakashi said, following him.

Harry snorted, then sneezed. "Let's just get inside. Where have you been all this time, anyway? That was you with the Death Eaters, right? We thought something might have happened when the attacks stopped all of a sudden."

"I got a good lead," Kakashi shrugged, "Following it took my attention elsewhere."

"A lead on Konoha?" Harry asked, rubbing his hands together, "Are we going home?"

"Soon," Kakashi said, "There's something I need to do first."

The teenager frowned. "You're always going off and doing things. I want to help, too."

"You can help," Kakashi offered, his eye crinkling in another smile. "You can stay out of trouble here."

Harry scowled, "That's not what I mean—I want to fight with you! It's pointless to stay here... And you need someone to watch your back! You're the one who's always talking about teamwork!"

"Teamwork?" Kakashi echoed blandly, "You can't even shake off a simple Genjutsu."

"That wasn't simple!" Harry snapped, "Besides, I would've gotten out of it if you'd given me a few more seconds!"

"You would've passed out if I gave you a few more seconds."

"I wasn't expecting that kind of attack, anyway," Harry said, "Because you weren't supposed to be here. If it had been a wizard, I would've heard them approach."

"Excuses are for asses," Kakashi drawled.

Harry snorted, "The same goes for you, then. You just have a stupid excuse about why I can't go with you."

"Mine's a good excuse," Kakashi retorted, "Besides, I'm your superior, I'm allowed to make decisions like that."

"Fine. It's a stupid _decision_, then," Harry said, "I'm not useless, you know. I won't get in your way, if that's what you're worried about."

"Hm."

Harry shot the man an irritated look—his face was buried behind his favorite copy of _Icha Icha_ again. The teen scowled. "You aren't even listening!"

"M-hm."

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione's voice was annoyed when she finally caught up to him in the Great Hall for lunch. "You missed Potions again!"

"I've been busy," Harry supplied, rolling his eyes. He tried to make it to classes, but when _"Just one more time!"_ dragged on for a few dozen trials, he tended to find that class was half over before he even realized he was late.

Professor McGonagall had not appreciated it when he barged into the classroom forty minutes late, and it hadn't been worth the trouble of getting Snape on his case again already when the man had only just been released by Madam Pomfrey.

Harry wasn't sure what the Potion's Master would do when they saw each other again, but he was willing to put off the experience as long as possible.

"You can copy my notes today," Hermione said grudgingly, "But you'd better be on time tomorrow! Is your... whatever you're working on so important that you have to skip?"

"Yes," Harry replied concisely, because if he didn't improve considerably, Kakashi would leave him behind again the next time he left the castle.

Hermione Granger was someone Harry couldn't quite figure out. When he'd first met her, she'd taken it upon herself to help him catch up to the class for no apparent reason. After the incident with the Quidditch Stadium, she'd been furious and would barely even _glare_ in his direction. Then all of a sudden, she'd started to be friendly with him again, even after their confrontation with the other Gryffindors a week ago.

Since then she'd been shunned by most of their classmates, but still seemed to be holding onto the intention of _helping_ him. He wasn't sure what she wanted, exactly, but it seemed to be helping him with his class work again. Harry didn't know why she bothered.

"Your brother's back, right?" Hermione prompted, helping herself to the dishes of food on the table.

Harry glanced at her in surprise. "What makes you think that?" Kakashi had been keeping a low profile since he'd arrived and as far as Harry knew, even most of the professors didn't realize he was back.

"I saw him in the halls yesterday," Hermione said. She frowned, "At least, I'm pretty sure it was him. He was fairly far off and disappeared pretty quickly, but there aren't that many people he can be confused with."

"Hm."

"Did you find a way to go home?"

Harry blinked, "What?"

"That's why you're doing all this stuff, right? That's what you said, at least."

"Well... yeah," Harry replied, "But why are you so interested? You want me to fight Voldemort-san... right?'

"I told you before," Hermione huffed, "I don't want it like this; not with you as a prisoner—or weapon—or whatever. There are certain human rights that shouldn't be denied. I said I'd help you get home, didn't I? And I mean to do it, if you'll let me."

Harry stared. "No... you didn't."

"Yes, I did... In the common room, the other night, remember?" Hermione prompted.

"You didn't say that," Harry said again, "I would've remembered if you did."

"Well... alright, maybe we were interrupted before, but I thought I made it clear, anyway," Hermione said.

"Harry stared at her for a long moment and abruptly stood. "I have to go."

"What?" Hermione burst in surprise, "Where are you...?" She shook her head in exasperation as he took off without even looking back. "Don't be late for Herbology!"

* * *

Harry was fifteen minutes late for Herbology after searching the castle grounds for his brother. He could feel Kakashi's chakra, so he knew he hadn't left, but he hadn't been able to pinpoint the location, and had eventually given up when it started to look like the Jounin was purposefully avoiding him.

"Oh, good!" Professor Sprout greeted him with surprising enthusiasm when he opened the door of the greenhouse, still shivering from the walk. "The Headmaster needs to see you right away, young man."

Harry blinked in surprise, "What for?"

"He didn't say," Sprout said, "But you'd better get going. That was ten minutes ago."

"... Right," Harry agreed bemusedly, and turned to walk back out.

It was as though the castle was making things as difficult as possible for him, because Dumbledore's office was just about as far away from the greenhouses as possible, and at one point Harry had run into a dead end and been forced to retrace his steps. With all the shifting and rearranging the castle did, dead ends were surprisingly uncommon.

"Sour Spree," Harry muttered when he finally arrived at the gargoyle marking the entrance to the Headmaster's office. The statue shook itself, coming to life, and peered down at him. It took a moment to stick out its tongue with a rude face before stepping aside.

Harry ignored the jibe and hurried up the moving staircase inside. He paused briefly to knock, but didn't wait for an invitation before letting himself in.

The teen stopped in the doorway, looking at the gathered delegation in surprise. Besides the Headmaster, he recognized the Minister of Magic and the tall, black guard that had been with him the last time he'd seen the man. There were three people he didn't recognize.

There was one witch, dressed in slick black robes. She was an older woman with short gray hair and a monocle, her broad face severe looking. Standing next to her, with intense blue eyes, was a wizard in black robes, the badge on his breast indicating he was a part of the force Harry had gone up against with his brother in the Ministry. He had long brown hair, hanging in a thick braid down his back to just below his shoulder blades. Across from them was a man with pale blond hair, richly decorated black robes, and angular features that struck Harry as familiar.

All eyes had turned on him upon his entrance, and none of them looked particularly happy.

"Harry," Dumbledore prompted, breaking the silence, "You remember the Minister."

Harry nodded. "It's good to see you again, Minister. I hope things have settled down at the Ministry. It seemed a bit—ah—hectic, I think, when we visited."

Fudge didn't seem amused at the reminder of the last time they'd met.

"It might if you'd stop causing trouble, Mr. Potter," the man said irritably.

"Hatake," Harry corrected automatically.

"Harry," Dumbledore intervened, "I'd like you to meet the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Amelia Bones, and Mr. Lucius Malfoy, the parent of one of our students and a very influential member of the Board of Education."

Harry looked up at the blond and suddenly knew exactly why he'd been called in. The man's cold, gray eyes met his own with a frosty glare.

"So, this is the boy that has been tormenting Draco," he said icily, "I was wondering when we'd meet... Mr. Potter."

A glower crossed the Genin's face, but before he could respond, Dumbledore stepped in again. "I'm afraid with your most recent actions, the Board was forced to take action, Harry."

"Yes, indeed," Fudge agreed, "We turned a blind eye on your violent misbehavior once before, Mr. Potter, because Dumbledore promised he'd dealt with it, however, you attacked the students again and injured one of your professors."

"That was—"

"We will take your statement," Amelia Bones said sharply, interrupting, "But only pertaining directly to the case. Did you or did you not injure Professor Severus Snape and several Slytherin students, including Mr. Draco Malfoy, Mr. Gregory Goyle, Mr. Vincent Crabbe, and Ms. Millicent Bulstrode?"

Harry hesitated, glancing at the hostile faces around him. Gritting up his determination, the Genin replied boldly. "I did. Are you planning on expelling me?" What harsher punishment could they possibly inflict on a school-aged child?

"Mr. Harry Potter has admitted to his crimes, Minister," Bones said formally. She looked at Harry again, "Mr. Potter, for the safety of your peers, you are from this moment forth, on probation. You will attend classes and return directly to your dormitory. You are suspended from any extracurricular activities in which you may be involved. Auror Bruce Savage has been assigned as your escort, and granted leave to use any necessary force to prevent you from causing further injury to the staff or students of Hogwarts."

It took Harry a moment to register everything she'd said. "You can't just—"

"Harry, the Ministry has made its decision," Dumbledore interrupted calmly, "You had best go along with their sentence and be thankful that it wasn't any more harsh."

"Should you ignore the procedures set in place and attack a member of Hogwarts' staff or student body," Bones continued, "You will spend one week in the wizard's prison of Azkaban. Do you understand what I have told you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry bristled, "I didn't do anything wrong! I was defending myself."

"We have spoken with witnesses from both incidents," the witch said, "In neither case did the provocation warrant such excessively violent responses. Do you understand your punishment, Mr. Potter?"

Harry glanced at the expectant wizards, feeling trapped. He couldn't possibly comply with rules like that. What were they expecting of him?

"This... is ridiculous. I'm not going to agree to something like that," Harry said firmly. He turned for the door, but just as his hand reached the handle, he heard the soft click of a lock. Rattling the handle briefly, he confirmed that it was locked.

"You don't need to agree," Fudge said gruffly, "This will happen whether you like it or not. For legal reasons, we just need to confirm you understand your sentence, since you are still underage."

Harry considered using a jutsu, but it would take too long, and he didn't think he'd be able to incapacitate so many wizards before one of them hit him with a spell. "Then, no, I don't understand," he said sharply. It would be better for everyone to think he was stupid than to have them put a _guard_ on him.

Fudge made a frustrated noise and Malfoy muttered, "This is ridiculous."

Bones replied calmly, "What part don't you understand, Mr. Potter?"

Harry thought a moment before shrugging, "I don't understand English." They never said it had to be a reasonable complaint.

"That's preposterous!" Fudge exploded, "We know you understand English! You were born in Britain—you've been conversing with us this entire time!"

Harry stared at him blankly.

"Mr. Potter," Bones had a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips, but managed to maintain a straight line, "You have already shown yourself to be fluent in the English language. Now, unless you have a real concern, I will finalize the sentence."

"I do have a real concern," Harry said quickly, "I don't understand why _I'm_ stuck taking this _Potter_ guy's punishments! I don't even know anyone by that name! I don't think he even exists—I've never seen him around the school."

"Mr. _Potter_," the woman said sharply, the touch of amusement fading quickly.

"Hatake!" Harry corrected irately, "My _name_ is Harry Hatake! I refuse to be punished with a name that doesn't even exist!"

"Now he's just picking at strings," Malfoy grumbled, "He understands perfectly, just finalize things."

"Harry," the woman said, "Your name is legally Harry James Potter. On your birth certificate—"

"My _legal_ name is Hatake Harii," Harry snapped, "That's the name on all of my official paperwork. It's the name on my identification. Just because your records aren't up to date doesn't mean they're correct."

"... Do you have your identification with you?" Bones prompted after a moment, sounding only slightly exasperated.

Harry nodded, reaching into his robes and pulling his tags from around his neck to show to the adults. Every shinobi wore one like it; it was helpful when identifying remains, which could sometimes be quite deformed after certain jutsu, but it wasn't something to be worn in plain sight.

"_That's_ not a real identification," Fudge blustered, "There's no photo, and it isn't even written in English!"

"Of course it isn't," Harry said derisively, wondering just how ignorant the man was, "We don't speak English in Konoha. And shinobi don't carry photos with their identification. The only photo identification is kept locked in the Hokage Tower, and none of you have the clearance to see those, anyway."

"It doesn't really matter what he calls himself, does it?" Malfoy asked coolly, "He is obviously still the same person."

"... No, it matters for record-keeping purposes," Bones said, "He won't be excused of his punishment, but if his name is really... what was it?"

"Hatake Harii," Harry supplied.

"Then that is how it must appear on the reports," Bones concluded.

"This is ridiculous," Fudge said, "Do you realize the resources it will take to have your name changed in all of our documentation, boy? That's resources that could be used against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"You can keep it as Potter," Harry said with a shrug, "But I won't be held accountable for anything with _that_ name on it."

The man made a frustrated sound, his face turning a dark shade of red.

"The change will be documented," Bones promised, "Now, assuming you have no other confusion... Mr. Hatake, these proceedings are finished."

"Then I can leave?" Harry prompted testily.

"As long as Auror Savage goes with you," the woman conceded.

Harry glanced at the long-haired man, who sent him a brief nod of acknowledgement. The boy glowered and turned to the door, but before he could even touch the handle, the doors burst open and a haggard looking man with a tangled beard and overgrown black hair rushed through.

Harry imagined he would have woken up in the hospital if he hadn't jumped back. The man was _huge_, nearly two and a half times his own height, and he was thick all the way around. He had to stoop a little just to fit in the room.

"Professor!" The giant burst before he took in his audience, the many pairs of eyes that were glued on him over gaping faces.

Harry was tense as he took in the potential threat of the enormous man. He held a kunai in each and, pressed against his palms so he could throw a surprise attack if necessary, and had a jutsu at the front of his mind. He wondered at the effectiveness of either against such a huge adversary, and hoped the man wouldn't make him find out.

"Hagrid," Dumbledore stood, looking confused, "Did something happen?"

The man was huffing, and the skin around his eyes and over his nose had turned red under the mixed scrutiny. "I... I came as soon as I could. Professor, I gotta warn you—there was this man, an' he said he was comin' here to... to _kill_ you!"

"Calm down, Hagird," Dumbledore advised, "You can see for yourself that I am quite alright. Minister, if our business is concluded, it seems I have something to discuss with my gamekeeper."

"Now, hold on a moment," Fudge frowned, "If there are death threats going around, I should know about it."

"You can be certain that I will inform you if Hagrid's news is any concern to you, Minister," Dumbledore replied calmly.

"Now, see here!" Fudge began indignantly.

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, "Perhaps you and Auror Savage should take your leave at this time."

Harry hesitated, his gaze flicking from the Headmaster to look again at the giant. He was surprised to see the huge man staring back, black eyes wide under bushy eyebrows and an odd hue in his cheeks. Feeling a little unnerved, the teen left quickly.

* * *

Savage broke the silence first, his long strides easily keeping up with Harry's quick pace.

"Mr. Hatake," his voice was deep, and it rumbled just a little. "I believe this transition will pass more smoothly if we both understand each other and our roles here."

"…" Harry didn't so much as glance at him, although his pace increased minutely.

"As such," the man plowed on, "I think it is prudent for me to tell you that I have spoken with the Headmaster extensively on your situation. He tells me you will be more comfortable having free access to the grounds during the day, and has suggested that you shouldn't be confined to the dormitory. While I don't condone ignoring the Ministry's decisions, I'm willing to be lenient if you will feel a little better about the situation because of it."

Harry shot the man an irritated look.

"I would also like to impress upon you that while my official position is to protect your classmates from any harm you may attempt to cause them, I will also do everything I can to ensure your safety here," the wizard pledged solemnly.

Harry continued his silence.

"… Do you have any concerns you wish to address, Mr. Hatake?" The man prompted, frowning uncomfortably.

"This is ridiculous!" Harry snapped at last, shooting the man a glare, "I'm not going to let you follow me around all the time—I didn't do anything wrong!"

Savage frowned at him, "Whether or not that is true, Mr. Hatake, I have my orders."

Harry shot him a challenging look, "Are you going to watch me pee?"

The man looked startled for a moment, then his frown deepened, his forehead wrinkling and displaying a small, white scar near his left temple. "I hope such a thing won't be necessary," he mused gravely, "However, if your actions warrant such extreme tactics, then I will, of course, do whatever is required of me."

"Hentai," Harry muttered darkly, glowering at him.

"Hm? What was that?"

"I don't know the word in English," Harry grumbled.

Savage sighed, "Look—do you mind if I call you Harry?" When the teen didn't reply, he continued, "Harry, I understand that this situation is not as you would prefer, but it is what it is whether we like it or not. I will respect your privacy and freedom as much as I can, but I can only do so much on my own. If you cooperate and are willing to communicate, I'm sure it will be that much more tolerable."

"… No," Harry said blandly—he didn't think anything would make the situation more tolerable. He still couldn't believe he'd been given an escort!

Savage frowned, "Now, Harry—" the rest of his words were swallowed when a figure appeared out of nowhere in front of them in the previously empty hallway. His hand was immediately on his wand, and a ray of light had exploded from the tip, sailing through the air at the intruder.

Kakashi's eye narrowed and he swiftly threw himself out of the way, grabbing his own kunai to retaliate—the quarters were too close to risk Ninjutsu.

"Niisan," Harry intervened quickly, "As much as I'd love for you to kill my guard, it's probably not a great idea until we're ready to leave."

Both men froze.

"You know this…?" Savage trailed off, fully taking in the newcomer's appearance. He straightened, relaxing a little, and lowered his wand hand slightly. "Mr. Kakashi Hatake, I suppose."

"Harii—what's going on?" Kakashi demanded, ignoring the man's words, but continuing to eye him warily.

"Apparently," Harry supplied, irritation in his voice, "It's a crime to defend myself. This guy's my… guard."

"_Escort_ would be a better word, I think," Savage offered.

Kakashi's eye landed on the man's badge. "I… see. Fudge did this?"

Harry nodded.

Kakashi regarded the Auror a moment longer before turning his attention to his brother. "I'll find you later, then…" His gaze slid back to the man, "Alone."

Savage scowled, "Hold on, Harry's not—" As suddenly as the Jounin had appeared, he was gone again. Genjutsu, Harry suspected, because even a Jounin couldn't vanish entirely so quickly in a small hall like this.

The wizard turned to Harry, flustered, and continued, "You know you're not allowed to go anywhere by yourself, right? I can give you two a little privacy to talk, if you want, but I won't let you out of my sight just for something like that."

Harry smiled—the game of cat and mouse was about to begin.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Harry was surprised when one of the school owls suddenly swooped down over his plate. He swatted at the bird, annoyed, but it persistently hung in the air over him, screeching a protest.

Beside him, Savage cleared his throat, pointing mysteriously up at the bird. Harry ignored him.

"Harry, just take the letter," Hermione added from where she sat across from the boy, shooting nervous looks at the Auror every once in a while—Harry was more concerned about Ron, who shot glares down the table from where he sat, occasionally adding some strange sort of fish-face that the other Gryffindors seemed to find funny. But the red-head didn't seem to want to confront him again now that he had a personal guard, so Harry turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Letter?" Harry repeated with a scowl—he knew about birds carrying letters and didn't care too much for them. Still, he reached out and snatched the note from the owl's leg. The bird attempted to peck his hand one last time before flying off with a belligerent hoot.

"Who's it from?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged, tearing open the folded piece of parchment and frowning at the untidy scrawl written upon it. Reading was difficult enough when the letters were neatly printed in a textbook, but simply deciphering the characters on the letter was a chore in itself.

It wasn't from his brother, though, so it couldn't be important. He folded the note again, deciding to take another look at it later, if he had time.

* * *

"Hatake," Snape growled almost immediately upon entering the classroom. "You seem to be _missing_ something. I suggest you fetch it before I report your blatant disregard for Ministry-commanded restrictions to the Headmaster."

Harry shrugged, unconcerned. He'd managed to escape Savage's watchful eyes at least a dozen times over the last several days. But the Auror never took too long to catch up to him, and when he did he usually harbored a temper for a while—glaring and grumbling until Harry rolled his eyes and told him it was good training. Harry doubted Savage actually considered it training, but it usually put him into a sullen silence until he was over it.

"I think he went into the washroom," he offered. "And while I'm not sure what _you're_ into," He gave the potions master a dirty look, "_I_ don't like peeping on old men in the lavatory."

Contrary to his expectations, Snape didn't back down, his drawl slow and sarcastic, "May I suggest you wait outside the door, in that case."

Harry snorted, "And miss the wonderful lecture I'm sure you will start any moment? Professor Snape, I _am_ here to learn after all. I'm not going to do anything, if that's what you're worried about—not unless you plan to attack me again."

The potion master's face was beginning to turn red, but he didn't have a chance to reply before the classroom door swung open and Savage burst through, coming to an abrupt halt within the classroom and blinking in surprise. A confused frown settled over his face, eyebrows drawn together and lips turned down.

"There, he's here," Harry offered, "Can we start already?"

Snape glared a moment longer before snapping a few points off Gryffindor and launching into his lecture with a short temper.

"So now you're sneaking off to attend _class_?" Savage whispered incredulously as he settled onto the seat beside Harry. "You do realize this is where you're _supposed_ to be, right?"

Harry smirked, "Ah, but I know how much you enjoy tracking me down. I thought I'd make it a little more interesting."

"Hatake!" Snape snapped, "Since you claim to want to learn so much, I advise you to _pay attention_—or you can further your studies with me in detention."

"Hai, taichou," Harry snapped in reply, his face studiously serious as his fist met his chest in a salute.

Snape growled something Harry didn't catch, and Harry barely maintained his intense expression—he wondered if this was what his brother meant by wearing a mask 'underneath'.

"Well," Savage rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, "At least this assignment isn't as boring as I thought it would be."

* * *

Harry stopped at the edge of the lake, ice and snow reached out jaggedly from the shore, but he could tell by the slick surface that it wasn't thick. Shaking his head, Harry carefully made his way out.

He had long since mastered water walking, but it was a bit more tricky with the half-formed ice under his feet, offsetting the amount of chakra he needed to produce at any given moment. Harry was glad when the ice broke up entirely a dozen or so meters out, but didn't let his guard down, mindful of the creatures his brother had aluded to living under the still surface.

"You don't have to worry about the squid," Kakashi called out as the young teen closed in on him, "It seems to be asleep."

"Why did you want me out here?" Harry asked, picking up his pace to cross the last few meters.

"Wizards can't water walk," Kakashi shrugged. "And I want you to keep in contact with Kiku-hime while I'm gone."

"You're leaving already?" Harry asked with disappointment. Because of his guard, he'd hardly seen his brother over the last week and a half.

The man raised an eyebrow, "It shouldn't take long. Kiku-hime has orders to find you every evening at eight and report. You should arrange to be alone somewhere in the forest at that time."

Harry frowned, "What is she reporting about?"

"She's keeping watch on our insurance in case something goes wrong."

"… What do I do if our_ insurance_ does something?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Kiku-hime will let you know," Kakashi replied, "Just keep in mind that under no circumstances is he to be allowed to disappear. He owns a bar in town and doesn't seem to want to leave, but I'm sure Dumbledore will attempt to convince him if he believes things are slipping out of his control."

Harry's frown deepened, "Can I ask who it is?"

Kakashi considered briefly. "The bartender at Hog's Head. His name is Dumbledore Aberforth-san."

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he didn't press the subject. Apparently his brother had managed to track down a relative of the Headmaster, and as much as those sorts of tactics made him nervous, it was a sound strategy.

"Just be sure to meet her," Kakashi concluded, moving away.

"Wait!" Harry blurted suddenly, "I still wanted to talk to you about Granger."

Kakashi turned back to him, eyebrows low. "Granger… a girl in your class, correct? Granger Hermione."

Harry nodded, "I've been meaning to tell you—she wants to help us return home."

"… Really," the Jounin said dryly.

"Well… she seems sincere," Harry offered, "And it would be useful to have some help from the inside, right?"

"Don't bother with it," Kakashi said, "I have things under control."

Harry bristled, "Then why are you running errands for Dumbledore and I'm still stuck in this school! Kakashi, face it, you haven't been in control of _anything_ since we got here, and it won't matter _who_ you threaten—Dumbledore will always be a step ahead of you! Anyway, you can keep doing what you want, but _I_ am going to try to figure this out, too!"

He didn't really realize just how far he'd gone until he was breaking the surface of freezing cold water, having hit it too fast and unexpectedly to catch himself on the surface.

The icy liquid was a shock to his system, and his lungs gasped for air before he could catch them, filling with water quickly. Forcing his mind to concentrate past the natural panic his body was embracing, Harry kicked towards the surface. He wasn't deep, and broke through to air quickly, choking on water and coughing heavily.

Infusing chakra into his hands, then his knees and feet, he pulled himself to the surface, still coughing up water and trembling all over from the cold. He could feel his brother looming over him, but was too involved with clearing his lungs to look.

The young Jounin waited until he was through to speak. "You have no idea what I've been doing to get you out of this mess. Dumbledore-san is a difficult man to match wits with and now that _I'm_ a step ahead of _him_ I'm not going to let you ruin it by speaking with a potential spy. Understand?"

Harry nodded, shivering and breathing hard as he slowly picked himself up. Still, he couldn't just let the subject drop, not when there was a chance it could help them return home. "But… what about a backup plan?" He croaked, "What's the problem with… just _working_ with her to—to find Konoha? Dumbledore already knows where it is."

"The point isn't to discover its location," Kakashi said sharply, "Sure, she'll help you, but she won't be able to say exactly, and once she has your trust, she'll get the information she really wants. Use your head, Harii. It's a classic maneuver against uncooperative prisoners to insert a sympathetic character and ensue gentle interrogations—you must have heard of it."

Grudgingly, Harry had to admit that he had, but he didn't feel like Hermione was trying to interrogate him. Was she really that good of an actress—or were her intentions really sincere? He ducked his head, fighting against the trembling in his limbs. Either way, his brother had made up his mind and Harry had been taught better than to contradict his superiors.

He released a long, shuddering breath. "I apologize, Kakashi-niisan. I was out of line."

The Jounin nodded shortly. "Get inside and warm up before you catch a cold, Harii."

Harry nodded briefly and turned, walking sullenly back towards the castle. He glanced at Savage, whose entire face was wrinkled with a heavy frown. The teen tore his gaze away quickly and increased his pace once he'd reached land. Savage joined him, remaining a few tactful steps behind.

Harry jerked with surprise when a weight suddenly settled on his shoulders. He almost tore the mysterious object off before he realized it was a large, pale blue blanket. The boy hesitated for a moment in indecision before glancing at the wizard over his shoulder and pulling the blanket more snuggly around himself.

"Don't use magic on me," he grumbled, although his tone was softer than usual.

The man nodded once, "I'll keep that in mind. But you're going to catch a cold running around in weather like this in a T-shirt and sandals. Especially if you go swimming in them."

Harry pushed open the castle doors and didn't respond.

"I could transfigure you a few sweatshirts," the Auror offered, "I noticed you don't have any…"

Harry glanced at him again, his expression defensive and suspicious—maybe the one they really needed to be worry about was this man, not Ganger.

Savage shrugged, "I just know that if it was my daughter, I'd want someone to keep her from freezing."

Harry grunted, and headed for the Gryffindor rooms. "You don't look like a father."

"What does a father look like?" The Auror asked casually, then pinned the teen with a meaningful look, "And what about a brother? Does he hit you around like that often? The Headmaster said you two spar, but there's usually some give and take in that sort of thing."

Harry's expression turned frosty immediately. "That's none of your business."

"You know, there are laws around to protect kids from stuff like that."

Harry stiffened, and shot the man an enraged look as it finally registered just what the man was suggesting. "You think—! That's idiotic! I'm not a child, and I'm certainly not _abused_ by my brother. Kakashi-niisan—"

He hesitated, eyeing the man guardedly again before carefully continuing, "Kakashi-niisan was just trying to stop me from doing something stupid and endangering our chances of getting home. Sometimes Genin don't learn until the answer's been pounded into them a time or two."

At least, that was what Hitsuya-sensei grumbled whenever he knocked him and his teammates around a bit for doing or saying something particularly stupid. Tenzou had mentioned similar sentiments when Harry had complained about the injustice of it all. Even the Fourth Hokage hadn't spared the rod when it came to knocking some sense into his students.

Harry shook his head, "I was just being stupid."

Savage did not look convinced.

"Anyway," Harry changed the subject, "You said you have a daughter?"

The man made an irritated noise before nodding. "That's right. She's four now—I don't see her much, though, she lives with her mother…"


	19. Slughorn's Secrets

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: As stated in the last 18 chapters, I do not own _Harry Potter_, _Naruto_, or any other copywrited material that you may find in this story.

I really wanted to get through another big scene in this, but I didn't quite get it in. So that'll be in the next chapter, then. (Not that there aren't important scenes in this chapter, I was just expecting to get that in here, too...) Anyway, we're coming up on the last week here in grad school, so I'm extremely busy and haven't replied to most of your reviews... Very sorry! The next update will be May 12. School will be done for the summer, so I should have time to reply to all of your lovely comments and intelligent criticism.

For anyone interested in the answer to my quizette last chapter... I'd meant to use Tonks in Savage's place, however after checking my facts, I found out she would still be in Auror training at least through the summer. Savage, for those of you curious, is a canon-esque character. He was mentioned briefly in the books, but his character was never developed beyond the name (and only the last name, at that).

One last thing that I've been meaning to mention. There's that fancy new crossover section on the site, and I was wondering whether anyone has strong feelings one way or another concerning the topic of moving these stories there. It seems like it would make it easier for people searching for crossovers to find, I guess... but I do like being in the greater category...

Hope you enjoy the next chapter!

Chapter 19 – Slughorn's Secrets

Anger burned like a fire in his veins, thrumming through every part of him. He wanted to spill blood—he wanted to spill _that_ blood!

"Hatake," the name was forced from his tongue in an angry hiss. Red eyes flicked between the nervous men lined before him as he slowly walked up the line, glaring at each in turn until their gaze flinched away. They were all disgusting; useless if they couldn't even bring him such information themselves.

"Why is it that I learned from the _papers_ what my own people should have told me months ago?" He demanded, his glare landing on Goyle.

Shifting his massive weight anxiously, the man replied, "We... thought you knew, my lord."

With one sibilant word, the man was writhing on the floor, screaming out his agony. For a moment, he stared avidly at his victim, relishing the pain that he so dearly wished to inflict on someone else. After a handful of seconds, he forced his wand tip up, releasing the man.

"With all due respect, my lord," Lastrange's voice piped up from further down the line, "Why does it matter what the brat calls himself? He's still the Potter bastard."

Red eyes snapped around on the thin man immediately. "_Bastard_ is a truer name than you know if this story is correct. That _boy_ is the very offspring of a vermin more disgusting than I would have imagined."

"My lord," Malfoy's voice was smooth with a confidence none of his followers should display in his presence. "Perhaps it would interest you to know, then, that he has a brother with him."

His gaze flicked again, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Another Hatake? Has that man left his filthy offspring everywhere for me to deal with? What is his name?"

Malfoy hesitated and he hit him with a _Crucio_ in a second bout of anger—how could the fools overlook such important details?

"Get me his name!" He exploded at the others, "And confirm this article!"

Crumpling the pages of newsprint, he threw it hatefully into the flames twisting in the fireplace at his side, watching it turn black as his servants scurried away. His anger festered inside of him, burning like the paper, until he finally turned away.

If he couldn't reach that man, at least he could avenge himself on the sons.

* * *

"Is he alright, then?" Harry asked when Kiku-hime, who had dropped out of the trees a few seconds earlier, only stared at him intently. He was too tired after losing sleep last night to try to guess at her expression.

Most of his brother's summons could talk, but Pakkun was the only one who chose to do so on a regular habit. Kakashi had told him that it was difficult for the dogs, and possibly a little painful, to form human words. The scrawny, dark gray dog before him had never spoken to Harry in his life, and he doubted she was going to start just because he was a little cranky.

Kiku-hime's growl was low and short, ending in something like a purr. Harry would never accuse a dog of purring, because he liked everything attached to his body right where it was, but there wasn't really any better way of describing the thrumming sound in the dog's throat.

"Good," Harry said. He hadn't expected there to be a problem, not with the dog's calm greeting, but it was always best to make sure. "You better get back, then."

Kiku-hime took a step forward, loosing a loud, reverberating bark immediately followed by a short, sharp noise. Harry scowled.

"I _didn't_ bring you anything," he growled, "You're on duty! I know niisan doesn't feed you while you're on duty."

Another short growl, the dog's tail twitched slightly.

"I'll make sure you get something when Kakashi comes back." Harry rolled his eyes. Shaking his head, he turned away, "Anyway, I'm leaving. I still have a charms lesson, and you have to get back to work. What if Aberforth-san sneaks away while you're begging for table scraps?"

With a final, almost petulant sound, the dog backed up a step and leaped into the trees. Harry turned in the other direction and picked his way back towards the castle.

Savage met him on the grounds, looking irritable and disgruntled as he always did when Harry escaped his guard.

"You realize all this sneaking around you do is in direct opposition to the probation the Ministry sentenced you to," the man grumbled, "Are you trying to get thrown into Azkaban?"

"It's fine as long as you don't tell them," Harry quipped. He doubted they'd _really_ try to throw him in prison. And even if they did, his brother would surely get him out before they managed to lock him away.

"They could find out from someone else," Savage said dryly, "You haven't exactly been subtle... or friendly towards the other students."

Harry glanced at him, "So you want me to be more subtle?"

Savage rolled his eyes, "Naturally, I'd rather you stop running off altogether. But, yes, a little discretion on your part would be nice."

"You just want better training," Harry accused with a smirk.

"Of course that must be what it is," Savage agreed dryly.

Harry glanced at him, "How do you always find me so quickly, anyway?"

The Auror grunted, "It's magic."

Harry frowned slightly, looking up at the man. "So... is it really _magic_, or are you just avoiding answering my question?"

"I guess you'll have to find out yourself," Savage replied. "You can consider it training," he added with a sardonic smile.

Harry laughed.

* * *

The house was quiet and appeared empty when Kakashi let himself in, silently shaking off a light coating of snow. He wondered briefly whether Dumbledore had gotten the wrong address, but dismissed the thought.

Although everything seemed to be in order, Kakashi's instincts were telling him that they weren't. Something in the empty drive, or the clustered furniture, or the dusty pictures. He couldn't quite say what it was that set him on edge, but he was almost positive that someone was there.

It felt like the many abandoned homes he'd visited in the middle of war-torn villages. The homes where they would sometimes find orphans hiding, or enemy ninja lying in wait. Empty, but not.

Shifting up his headband, Kakashi took a closer look at the room, taking into account every inconsistent detail. Like how some of the furniture was immaculately clean while others were dusty with disuse. Kakashi slowly made his way into the next room, spotting more of the same signs of uneven use. He doubled back into a third room and stared.

It was a cozy little kitchen with a table and counter work crowded into one room. There was a coffeemaker on the counter that was steaming, filling the apparently abandoned room with the smell of freshly brewed beans, but that wasn't the most remarkable thing.

The most remarkable thing was the squat stool near the back door that looked very much like a man.

Kakashi frowned, closing first his left eye—the stool looked normal, although the design was still odd and didn't match any of the other furniture he'd seen. Switching eyes, the Jounin peered again at the strange conglomeration of man and stool that became visible to his Sharingan

He couldn't make out any of the man's features because the harder he tried to focus on any given place, the more the man looked like a stool in that area. Blinking several times and trying to clear the headache that was forming as he tried to understand the double image, Kakashi addressed the man-stool. "I know you're there; you might as well drop the disguise."

The stool shuddered ever so slightly but didn't make any indication of changing into a man. It was still enough confirmation for the Jounin.

Casually, Kakashi drew his sword and strode across the room. "Fine, don't reveal yourself. I'll carve you out of this stool with blood, instead."

The man-stool suddenly tilted back and forth violently before quickly unfolding itself into a full-figured man. Kakashi looked him up and down and frowned.

"You're not dead."

The man was looking at him in much the same way, "Neither are you, although I'm a little surprised. You were the one in that small town with the dementors, right? Yak-something?"

"Yekaterinburg," Kakashi confirmed with a nod. "Your name isn't Horatio, though, is it, Slughorn-san?"

The man paled a little. He had changed since the last time Kakashi had seen him. His face seemed drawn, but in contrast, he'd gained at least twenty or so pounds around the middle, and his hair had more gray than Kakashi remembered. At last, the man collected himself enough to respond, "I—don't know what you're talking about."

"I've been surrounded by more gifted liars than you my whole life," Kakashi said dryly, sliding his sword into its sheath, although he remained tense and ready to fight if it came to that. "Dumbledore-san sent me. Tell me about the Horcrux."

The man looked like he was about to be ill. Sweat dotted his pale brow and the skin around his eyes was beginning to look a little green. "I-I don't..."

"Slughorn-san," Kakashi interrupted sharply, "I doubt saying this will mean anything to you, but you helped me out of a tight situation so I will give you fair warning. I am a shinobi—a ninja. Lies won't work against me. Dumbledore said you know something about Voldemort and Horcrux, and one way or another, I intend to find out what that is."

"Sh-shinobi?" Slughorn repeated shakily.

Kakashi's eyes narrowed. "If you'd like, we can have _that_ conversation first. What do you know about shinobi?"

The man hesitated, his tongue slipping out briefly to wet his lips and his eyes darting around. At last, he nodded. "I have... met shinobi before. A group of them, at Hogwarts, a long time ago. Must have been... almost thirty years, now."

Kakashi was silent for a moment, absorbing the information. "Who? Do you know the names? Or even a description?"

"… It was a long time ago," Slughorn said reluctantly, "They didn't stay long—most of 'em. There were two… a woman with eyes like _that_," he gestured to Kakashi's Sharingan, still uncovered, "And… the other—he was only a boy, but I remember his name. Sakumo, he called himself. He was a clever one; if he'd been a wizard, I'm sure he would've made a name for himself. Even as a muggle, he couldn't have done too badly."

Kakashi barely registered anything following his father's name. There was still the possibility that it was someone else, but he _knew_ that his father had been to England, and if he'd been there on an earlier mission, as well, that would explain why he had been sent back for the mission on which Harry was conceived when everything about the place was supposed to be secret.

"What did they do when they came?" Kakashi asked at last.

The wizard blinked, frowning deeply. "Do?" He echoed. "They didn't _do_ much of anything. Nothing that would be in the papers, at any rate. No, it was more like they observed. The boy, in particular, sat in on a number of my classes—I was a teacher at the time."

Kakashi frowned, "If they didn't _do_ anything, why were you worried when I mentioned them before?"

"Ah," Slughorn looked nervous again, "It's just that… something happened during their stay. I've never been quite sure what it was, but when they left, nearly all of them were either dead or dying—only the boy seemed mostly healthy, and he was beginning to take ill, as well."

Kakashi frowned, "They were sick? From what?"

"I told you, I don't know," Slughorn replied, a bit shortly, "But they hadn't even stayed a year when they began showing symptoms, kind of out of nowhere."

"What symptoms?" Kakashi demanded irritably.

"It was a long time ago!" Slughorn repeated in exasperation.

"Tom Riddle was your student a longer time ago," Kakashi pointed out coolly, "We could talk about _him_, instead. I know you remember."

The man grimaced. "It's not that I don't want to tell you—those shinobi were a secretive lot, even when they acted friendly enough. We didn't know anything was wrong until the woman collapsed in the courtyard. She was moved to the infirmary, of course, but Poppy couldn't do anything for her. The others returned about the time she started coughing up blood. One of them was already dead. They didn't stay long after that; not after it was clear that we couldn't do anything for them."

Kakashi was silent in response, taking in the details he'd been given and wondering at the cause. If they'd been in the same place when they fell ill it would have been easy to conclude that they had simply caught a foreign bug that their immune systems were unable to deal with. However, it sounded like they'd been spread out at the time, and somehow they had all contracted the illness at about the same time, which didn't make sense. Unless it was something they'd contracted when they first arrived and it had a very long germination period. Kakashi doubted that.

"And the Horcrux?" He prompted at length, putting his personal interest aside. "What did you tell Riddle?"

Slughorn frowned, "Now, wait a minute. I told you—!"

"I said you could tell me _before_, not instead," Kakashi interrupted, "What do you know?"

The man's left hand was working anxiously and Kakashi caught the gleam of polished wood clenched between the fingers of his right. The Jounin's eyes narrowed, and in the same instant that the wizard began to raise his arm, Kakashi caught it, forcing the wand up to point away from him in one swift motion that turned the man's wrist back on himself until it cracked.

Slughorn cried out in pain, the wand dropping from senseless fingers as his wrist burned in white-hot agony. He clutched the injured hand to himself as Kakashi kicked his wand across the room where it couldn't do any harm.

It wasn't exactly what he'd wanted to do—Genjutsu didn't work so well when the victim's mind was distracted by pain—but Slughorn's bones were more brittle, and his joints less flexible, than the Jounin was used to.

"I'd rather not torture the answer from you," Kakashi said coldly, slipping easily into a more practical interrogation method. "You saved my life. But on a mission, personal feelings don't matter. Still—for you, I'll leave your face alone, at least."

The man let out a strangled sob when he moved closer, and he pressed himself back into the wall. "Wa-wait a minute!" He stammered, "Let's be reasonable! It's not as though I did anything wrong—I didn't know he would… I never would have said a thing if I'd known how it would turn out!"

"I don't care about reasons," Kakashi said dully, "I care about facts. There's nothing anyone can do about what you said, but knowing what the enemy knows will give us some advantage."

The man was pale and shaking, his eyes darting about. Kakashi was reluctant to do more damage in case it caused him to pass out from shock, but he still reached for the man's hand again, grabbing hold of the uninjured limb, twisting it slightly to lock the joint.

Slughorn released a quivering cry of alarm. "Okay! Okay—here's what happened! I swear I didn't know—he said he was just curious about how they worked. Lots of boys that age are interested in things they shouldn't be, and Tom was a _good_ boy. At least, I thought—"

Kakashi put a little pressure on the joint, enough to make the man wince uncomfortably. "Just the facts, please."

"He asked me how they were made!" The wizard blurted anxiously, "Not right out like that, of course, but in a casual way." He quickly continued, "I told him it was terrible! I said it was dark and horrible and not something for him to be interested about…"

"But you still told him."

"He insisted he was just curious—that of course he knew it was dark, he just wanted to know how it worked. So I told him. I just wanted to impress upon him how terrible it was. To make a Horcrux you have to murder someone, I said—kill them and use their blood in the spell. I never told him the spell, though! I swear, when he asked about that, I refused to say a word!"

Kakashi made a disinterested sound. "What else?"

"I… that is…" The man was sweating badly—even the hand Kakashi held was slippery. "He asked about doing it more times than once. If anyone had, I mean. I couldn't believe it! Of course no one had done such a horrible thing! What kind of monster would you have to be to even _think_ about doing something so terrible more than once? But, Tom… he pressed."

"That's what Dumbledore wants to know," Kakashi said, peering at him closely. The older wizard had briefed him before he'd left, and told him he suspected there were more than one. The exact quantity was his primary concern. "What did he say? What number?"

* * *

"Harry!" The voice was loud and unexpected, and Harry almost jumped in surprise. He glanced first at Savage, who was spinning around, before turning to look back in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, where a large man accompanied by a large, black dog were approaching swiftly across the yard.

It only took an instant for Harry to identify him, "The man from Dumbledore's office."

His eyes were crinkled a little and Harry could see the gleam of teeth behind his shaggy black beard as he drew nearer. "Harry!" He boomed again, "I was hopin' to see yeh before Dumbledore sent me out agin'! Didn't yeh get my letter?"

Harry didn't have a chance to answer because the boarhound jumped at him, tail wagging violently. Harry just barely dodged out of the way, obliging the excited canine with attention when it rounded on him again, this time with less momentum.

The giant laughed, "I see Fang's taken a likin' to yeh already!"

"Dogs usually like me," Harry said, grunting when the large dog bumped him with its snout, demanding more attention.

"They're a good judge of character," the man said happily.

Harry managed to push the dog away, and looked up at the man. "Who are you?"

"Me?" The man echoed, then looked a little sheepish, his cheeks tinting pink over his unkempt mustache and one thick fingered hand tugging briefly at his tangled hair. "Ah, sorry 'bout that. I'm Ruebus Hagrid—most everyone calls me Hagrid, though. Was a friend of yer parents, before they…"

Harry nodded his understanding. _Another_ family friend, it seemed. He was running into those all over the place these days. "You work for Dumbledore?"

The large man nodded. "I'm the groundskeeper here at Hogwarts. Although occasionally I do _other_ things." He winked and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Everything was sorted out about Dumbledore's would-be assassin, I assume," Savage interjected.

Harry frowned, remembering the half-finished conversation that didn't particularly interest him in the first place. Surely someone like Dumbledore had a lot of enemies out for his head.

Again the large man looked a little embarrassed. "It was a bit o' a misunderstanding, 'parently. Dumbledore knows the guy, and insisted he was quite safe." Hagrid sighed, appearing unhappy, "I jus' don't know. That guy seemed real serious when I talked to him. Still, Dumbledore knows what he's doing, I guess." He looked at Harry again and beamed, "On yer way to classes, then?"

Harry nodded. He'd probably be late by now.

"Yeh best be off, then," Hagrid noted, "Come visit me next week—I'll make tea, and we can talk. Fang'd like it, too, I expect, and we'll be leaving again after the break."

"Break?" Harry repeated. He vaguely recalled Hermione saying something about that.

Savage answered, "Christmas break. It starts next week; haven't you been paying attention?"

"Christmas?" Harry echoed before he could stop himself, "Another holiday?" He vaguely remembered something about presents he never got to open and a lot of time locked inside his small, dark closet.

"Yeh don't know about Christmas?" Hagrid asked in surprise.

Harry felt himself flushing, "I… kind of remember a little. I know I've heard of it before, at least. Is that what those trees in the Great Hall are for?" He didn't remember whether they'd had trees at the Dursleys, and couldn't imagine what they would be used for. Maybe wizards just liked plants at every holiday—they'd had pumpkins everywhere at Halloween, after all.

"Never mind," Savage said, "You'll find out soon enough, and you're already late for class. We need to get moving."

* * *

"You have completed your task, I assume," Dumbledore acknowledged the shinobi once the doors closed behind him.

"The first coordinate," Kakashi prompted.

"I have written it down for you," Dumbledore held up a folded square of parchment for the ninja to see.

"… Seven," Kakashi said at last. "He said it was a powerful number and wanted to split himself seven ways."

"Which would mean six Horcruxes," Dumbledore concluded grimly.

Kakashi held out his hand and the wizard dropped the paper onto it. Lifting the scarp, Kakashi frowned at the writing for a moment—_45 m_—before sliding it into his pocket and looking up again. "What exactly _are _Horcrux? Slughorn-san said something about killing and saying a spell."

"The spell is a very complicated one," Dumbledore said, "But, yes, that's all it takes. The purpose is to split your soul and seal that piece into an object, so that if you are ever killed, the object will be safe and your soul will live on, giving you the opportunity to find a way to recover your body or possess someone else and live on."

Kakashi frowned—the entire thing sounded extremely unlikely, and he wanted to question just about everything the old wizard said. "Splitting your soul?" Was the question he settled with.

"Harry has made it clear that he doesn't believe in a soul… Perhaps, though, this is the strongest evidence we have that it exists. After all, Voldemort died, however he was able to live on because his soul had been split and kept safe in his Horcruxes. The splitting itself, of course, is caused by the murder."

"Just killing doesn't… split souls."

"Killing always splits the soul," Dumbledore replied gravely, "However, assuming such begs the question as to how you shinobi, who kill often, are able to remain stable for such a long amount of time. My best theory is that every murder is not equal. You, who treat killing lightly, perhaps only lose a very small amount of your soul in one death. For our culture, where murder is seen as one of the most grievous crimes—"

Kakashi interrupted with a scowl, "Murder is a crime in Konoha, as well, Dumbledore-san. We kill on missions to defend ourselves, our charges, or our village. Shinobi who murder for sport are imprisoned or killed; shinobi who kill needlessly on missions are looked upon with contempt. We kill when we must, but we do _not_ take it lightly."

Dumbledore regarded him silently for a moment longer. "My apologies for the misunderstanding, then. Even among wizards, a man who kills in self-defense, when there is no other option available, is not held in contempt for his crime. In a case like that, I believe the portion of the soul that is broken is smaller. However, it is still torn."

"But, to create a Horcrux," the wizard continued, "Takes another kind of killing. A much larger split must be made. It isn't enough just to kill. The more violent or cruel the murder, the more effective a Horcrux becomes. So you see what a horrible thing it is."

Kakashi nodded grimly. He didn't know about souls, but could understand the theory well enough. Chakra could be split when creating Shadow clones. In one sense, each clone was a small amount of the original person. Perhaps the 'soul' Voldemort was splitting was essentially his chakra, or whatever it was civilians relied upon for their strength when they had little or no chakra.

"When a Horcrux is destroyed, the 'soul' rejoins the original?" Kakashi asked.

"When a Horcrux is destroyed, the soul it holds is also destroyed," Dumbledore corrected gravely, "That is why those who create Horcruxes typically hide them away very carefully."

"So the 'soul' within the original remains incomplete?" Kakashi prompted, "Doesn't that leave them weakened?"

"It does weaken the spell-caster," Dumbledore confirmed, "But it does not affect their ability to use magic; not unless a great majority of their soul is destroyed, and even Voldemort would not have been foolish enough to split his soul that far."

Kakashi nodded his understanding, "So you want Harii to destroy the Horcrux."

"It may come to that," Dumbledore agreed, "However, a Horcrux cannot be called Voldemort himself, and the objects themselves, although difficult to destroy, ought to be possible to get rid of without wasting Harry's talents. I believe Harry's job will be made easier if he is assisted in destroying the Horcruxes before he must face Voldemort."

The old wizard opened one of his desk drawers and removed a leather bound book. It was burnt around the edges and very weather-beaten, and yet, on whole, it looked largely undamaged.

"This… for example," Dumbledore said, "It was confiscated during a raid on Mr. Malfoy's house, and later discovered to be a Horcrux." Opening a second drawer, he pulled out a blocky, gold ring. "And this ring was very hard to track down, but has also been identified as such. If I am not very much mistaken, these both belong to Voldemort, along with four others."

Kakashi frowned, experimentally picking up the book and flipping through the blank pages. It didn't seem particularly interesting, although he felt uneasy holding it—perhaps because of what Dumbledore had told him.

"If these are Voldemort's Horcrux, why haven't you destroyed them?"

"Since they fell into my hands, I have tried countless methods of destroying them," Dumbledore admitted, "However, nothing has worked so far."

Kakashi shifted the book so he held it in both hands and pulled. He was surprised when the leather cover only twisted a bit, refusing to tear. Shifting again into a more effective position, with the book close to his core and his hands gripping more tightly, Kakashi tried again, grunting with the effort.

Dumbledore smiled faintly as the Jounin drew a kunai and plunged it towards the book. It penetrated easily, but when he removed the knife, there was no discernable damage visible. Kakashi flipped through the pages again, just to be sure, but none of them appeared to have been cut.

"It can be burned, torn, cut, stabbed, or attacked with spells," Dumbledore said, "But it cannot be destroyed by any of those ordinary means. That," he flourished his hand at the book, "Is your next task. Perhaps you will have better luck than me. Destroy these two Horcruxes and I will give you the next coordinate you need."

Kakashi stared back at him for a long moment, expression grim. "If I find a way to destroy them… I want one coordinate per Horcrux."

"Finding the Horcruxes in the first place is half of the difficulty of destroying them," Dumbledore argued, "If you do find and destroy a Horcrux—for that daunting task, I would certainly give you a coordinate for each Horcrux. But these have already been found, and once you have destroyed one, the other may not be too difficult. One coordinate for the pair seems fair."

Scowling, Kakashi snatched up the ring, as well, studying the gleaming black stone with distaste. "Very well. One for destroying these, and the third for finding and destroying another." Already, suspicions were forming in his head as to where one might be—he _had_ seen a tunnel in that cave, and now that information might prove useful.

Dumbledore nodded reasonably.

Slipping the ring into a pocket and tucking the book under his arm, Kakashi left the office.

* * *

"Horcrux?" Harry repeated blankly.

They were in the Gryffindor common room. Normally, neither shinobi would feel comfortable speaking in the open about a mission, even if the English children didn't understand their language, but at the moment the room was all but abandoned. A small girl sat near the fireplace, all the way across the room from them, and Savage was by the door. Harry and Kakashi were at one of the tables under a window that provided a view of the Forbidden Forest. A worn book and ugly ring sat on the table in front of them.

"I have to find out how to destroy them," Kakashi said, "See if Lupin-san knows anything. Considering Dumbledore couldn't do it, we probably won't find anything useful in the library. I will experiment with the ring." He indicated the piece of jewelry as he spoke. Presumably, it would be more difficult to destroy than the book.

Harry frowned, "But wouldn't Dumbledore have already asked Lupin-sensei?"

"In regards to Voldemort, it seems that most information is regarded as secret," Kakashi said, "Lupin-san may not be within the circle that Dumbledore wishes to employ to destroy them. Use discretion when you speak to him."

"… I'll see what he knows," Harry conceded reluctantly. He lifted the book, paging through it. "Why is it empty?"

Kakashi shrugged, "To make it appear unimportant, probably."

Harry grunted and shut the book, sliding it back from the edge a little. "Can I keep it?"

"… It would be better if you don't attempt to destroy it yourself," Kakashi said after a moment, "There may be some sort of backlash that accompanies its destruction."

"If its magical, it might require a magical means of destruction," Harry pointed out, "In that case, I'd have to do it, anyway. You're not a wizard."

"Dumbledore's already tried using spells," Kakashi said.

"Well, he can't have tried all of them," Harry said, "Or maybe even a potion—did you know there's one that can turn a person inside out? That has to be a painful way to die."

"And yet, I doubt it would be effective against a ring or a book," Kakashi said dryly.

"I'm just saying," Harry insisted, "There might be a magical way to do it, still."

"… Fine," Kakashi relented, "You can keep it, only…" He cast a glance over his shoulder, at where Savage was leaning casually against the wall, "Don't try to destroy it when you're alone. Even if it has to be with _him_."

* * *

"So, where's your _girlfriend_?" Ron asked nastily as he joined Harry at the empty Gryffindor table for a late breakfast. "Thought she'd be spending Christmas with you."

"She's not my girlfriend," Harry said irritably. He was definitely getting tired of the one-Weasley-interrogation-squad. "Can't you at least think of more interesting things to bother me about?"

"I don't know why the hat put you in Gryffindor," the red-head grumbled, vindictively sticking a sausage with his fork. "You would've fit better with all the other prats in Slytherin."

"Maybe we should request a second sorting," Harry offered, "At least Malfoy knows when to shut up." He wondered, vaguely, if a punch in the nose would do it with the Weasley.

Ron bristled, "Are you comparing _me_ to Malfoy!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry replied dryly, "That would be insulting."

Ron was still frowning angrily after him, presumably trying to determine whether he'd been insulted or not, as Harry stood, heading up to the staff table where Lupin sat alone, slumped wearily in his chair.

"Lupin-sensei, can I speak with you when you're done here?"

The man looked up at him and took a moment to answer. "Yes… of course, Harry. What would you like to talk about?"

"… Not here," Harry said, "Let's go somewhere private."

The man nodded after a moment, pushing back his food. "Alright. I'm done here—we'll talk in my office."

Nodding, Harry followed him from the hall. He frowned at Savage over his shoulder, "_You_ can wait in the hall."

The Auror rolled his eyes, muttering something about _paranoid_, but didn't argue. Fifteen minutes later, Harry was sitting across from Lupin at his desk, receiving a very disappointing answer.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I really don't know much about Horcruxes," the man apologized.

Harry frowned, "So you don't have _any_ idea how to destroy one? Aren't you the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"… Horcruxes are very advanced; they're a very complicated piece of magic," Lupin said, "With magic like that, there are very particular requirements. If the object is altered or destroyed, the spell binding the soul will fall apart."

"Altered like burned?" Harry probed, "Like cut in half?"

"That should do it," Lupin agreed, "But I can't say for certain. Professor Dumbledore would be able to tell better than me."

"That's already been tried," Harry said irritably, "Even my brother couldn't tear it."

The man smiled faintly, "Well, it will be protected by all sorts of counter-spells, of course. Horcruxes are usually layered with protective spells, so it takes very powerful magic to destroy them; or magical objects that are themselves impervious to counter spells."

"There are things like that?"

"Very old, powerful items," Lupin confirmed, "The stuff of legend, mostly. Merlin is said to have carried a dagger his entire life, which absorbed a part of his magic over time, for example. If it really exists, it would be an object like that."

Harry frowned at the unlikely solution. "What about the magic? You can use powerful spells?"

Lupin sighed, his eyebrows lowering in thought. "It depends how well protected the Horcrux is. Most curses strong enough to destroy something like that will be illegal. For one, the killing curse is unstoppable." The man hesitated, then smirked a little, "Excepting present company, of course. We still aren't quite sure how that worked. Of course, it wouldn't be effective against inanimate objects."

Harry scowled, "So you just have to try powerful curses until something works?"

Lupin grimaced, "That's about the worst thing you could do, Harry. Spells of that strength rarely just disappear upon contact with protective spells. Usually there will be a rebound of some sort, and if you're not careful you could be killed by your own curse. Not unlike what happened to You-Know-Who."

Harry absorbed this in silence for a moment, considering. At last, he nodded, and headed to the window. It seemed that he wouldn't get anything more useful from Lupin.

They were only on the second floor, the Genin measured, glancing out. He could stick that landing easily.

"Thank you, Lupin-sensei," Harry said, working the latches as the baffled wizard watched.

"Harry—what are you—?"

Harry smirked at him over his shoulder, "Don't tell Savage-san, na?" He jumped.

* * *

Harry stared blankly at the pile of objects at the foot of his bed. He hadn't heard anyone moving about during the night, but the packages certainly hadn't been there when he went to sleep.

They were obviously gifts; most with shiny paper and small tags bearing his name. Harry wasn't exactly sure why they were there, or whether they were safe to open.

"For Christmas…?" He muttered to himself, remembering the packages Dudley had always received at the holiday, and the toys he would leave broken in his second bedroom less than a week later. Were the presents a Christmas thing, then, and not just a 'Dudley' thing? And who would have sent him anything, anyway?

Harry glanced across at his roommate's bed as the other teenager began to stir. Since the break started, they'd had the room to themselves. Not that they saw each other much. Harry made a point of leaving in the morning before Ron was awake, and Ron stayed up late with his brothers most nights.

The Genin considered leaving the packages where they were without further inspection and leaving before the red-head was awake, but Ron's eyes blinked open faster than usual and the opportunity was lost.

Ron rubbed his eyes, head lifting to look at the foot of his own bed with a smile of anticipation. It wasn't until he'd sat up and was already reaching for the top box that he noticed Harry.

Immediately, the smile fell from the boy's face and he glanced from Harry to the small pile of packages on his bed.

"Who'd send _you_ presents?" He asked incredulously, then, as an afterthought added, "Right—your brother."

Harry shook his head, ignoring the other boy's accusing tone. "We don't celebrate Christmas in Konoha."

The red-head blinked in surprise, then scowled. "Then who…?" He shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the Genin. "Never mind," he grumbled, "I don't really care, anyway."

Ron shifted slightly, so he was facing a little away from Harry, and dove into his presents. He tore off the paper on his first gift box, making a noise of appreciation, and Harry slipped out of bed to change, keeping a wary eye on his own boxes.

He wondered, again, who they might be from and what were inside them. Most of all: were they _safe_? Even if they said they were from someone he knew, that didn't guarantee that they were. Or they might have been tampered with in transit.

It wasn't worth the risk. Harry was moving towards the door by the time Ron had opened his third package. The boy looked up at the motion and his eyes widened as though witnessing a foreign ritual.

"You're not even going to _open_ them?" He asked incredulously, "Well, that's nice, _scrooge_."

"It's easy to hide traps in boxes like that," Harry said, nodding towards the packages, "For all I know, as soon as I try to open one, it'll explode."

"… You're crazy," Ron announced, "They're just _Christmas presents_! Who would put a trap in something like that—that would be awful!"

"Oh, I don't know—maybe Voldemort, or one of his Death Eaters, or one of the other hundreds of people I'm sure want me dead," Harry quipped irritably.

Ron took a second look at him, peering suspiciously between him and the packages. At last, he shook his head, sliding from his own bed. "But in _Christmas_ presents? That'd be cold." He picked up the top-most package and flipped over the tag. The boy snorted, "Figures—this one's from Hermione. Are you going to tell me you think _she's _trying to do you in? 'Cause most girls don't _snog_ guys they want dead."

Harrry frowned, walking to the red-head's side and studying the tag for a moment. It was certainly Hermione's writing. "It could have been intercepted," he said reluctantly, "Even if it's from Hermione—it could still be a trap."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" The red-head exclaimed, "You're going to waste Christmas just because you're paranoid about stuff that'd never really happen in real life?" He gave the package a violent shake, "Does that sound like it's going to explode? But—whatever—if you want to miss out, that's your problem. Me, I'm going to _enjoy_ my presents."

Dropping the box back on top of the others, he stalked back to his bed and sat heavily on it, his back to Harry again. Snatching up the top package, he ripped the paper open loudly.

Harry hesitated. He _was_ curious about what he'd been given. Especially from Hermione. She hadn't mentioned helping him find Konoha in a while, but she'd still been sitting with him in the Great Hall, and trying to get him to work on his homework outside of classes.

Reluctantly, he picked up the package Ron had dropped and examined it a little closer. As far as he could tell, it hadn't been tampered with, excluding Ron's rough handling, at least.

Carefully, Harry worked the paper open. There was no box inside like he'd assumed. Instead he found a stiff paperback book. Removing it from the wrapping, Harry turned the book over to look at the cover.

A long, thin island was depicted on the front, surrounded by a churning, blue sea. At the horizon, a bright, red sun was rising underneath the stylized letters of the title. Harry flipped the cover open and found a folded sheet of parchment wedged between the thin cardboard and the first page.

"_Harry,"_ it read in Hermione's precise script.

"_I talked it over with my parents, and my father said that 'sensei' was a Japanese word. We looked up your name 'Hatake' and found that that, too, was Japanese. Ninja, of course, originated in Japan, so it's likely that your home is in—or near—Japan. Hopefully, this book will help you confirm our theory._

_-Hermione"_

Setting the parchment aside, Harry flipped through the pages swiftly. He hadn't attempted to work with the girl to find Konoha since his conversation on the lake with Kakashi, but there was no reason not to look at what she'd given him.

He froze suddenly, eyes wide, and flipped back a few pages. Harry stared at the table of familiar characters printed on page forty-three.

"That's…" Not all of them were exactly how he'd learned them, but they were close enough to be easily legible. How could another country have developed the same language system as them? Maybe Fire Country really was somewhere near this Japan.

He flipped through the pages quickly until he found a map, which consisted mostly of a string of islands. He studied each closely, just to be safe, but none of the landmarks matched up with what was familiar to him. Still, if they spoke the same language, Fire Country was bound to be nearby. Shutting the book, Harry headed out again, his gait fast.

"Hey!" Ron called after him, "What about the rest of your presents?"

"I'll look at them later," Harry replied dismissively. At the moment, what he really needed was the vast system of reference books hidden away in the Hogwarts Library.


	20. Lightning Strike

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: In case you've been asleep the last 19 times I said it, I do not own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_, and there's an extremely good chance that I never will. (That's a bet I'd take...)

This is a lot later than I meant to get it up... but I already mentioned my reasons for the delay in my profile, so I won't bore you with the details of my life. Anyway, I hope the content will make up for the late update. Chapter 21 should be up June 2nd...

As always, thank you so much for your reviews! I would have taken the time to reply to them personally this last week... but I figured you'd rather I devote that time to getting this chapter up. (Let me know if that was wrong.) Because of the many good points you reviewers had, I will be switching this story into the Naruto/Harry Potter crossover section three days from now. Figured I would give you all a few day's warning, first. Hope you like chapter 20!

Chapter 20 – Lightning Strike

"There's nothing like a good, old fashioned case of missing person to make a morning worthwhile," Savage said dryly as he rounded the bookshelf in the library, turning up the isle to approach Harry. "Can't even give me a break on Christmas, can you, kid?"

"A shinobi's efforts to escape captivity never rest," Harry muttered in reply, his eyes still roving the pages of the open book in front of him, memorizing the contours of where land met water, the ragged line of mountain peaks, and the clusters of buildings that covered a large portion of the island country.

"What are you studying?" Savage asked, his voice still gruff as he moved closer.

Harry shut his books, stacked them, and tucked them under his arm before the Auror could glimpse the titles. "Nothing."

He was irritated, but not altogether surprised that his search had turned up nothing. If it was as easy as that, he and Kakashi would be home by now; and the witch at the Ministry had said something about Fire Country being unplottable—which meant it wouldn't turn up on maps.

"Have you seen Kakashi-niisan?" Harry added, moving past the man to return his books.

"How would I know about your brother? It's not like he seeks me out or anything."

Harry shrugged and changed the subject, "Savage-san, have you ever been to Japan?"

The man blinked, his frown deepening, "Japan? What kind of a question is that? No, I've never been to Japan, and you won't find many European wizards who have."

Harry glanced at him in surprise, shoving an Atlas back on its shelf. "Why not?"

"The society of Japanese wizards is a joke," Savage said scathingly. "Not only do they lack any sort of organized government, but they don't make ay significant attempts to hide their abilities from the muggles! In fact, they seem to take a particular delight in flaunting their magic, playing tricks on muggles to make them believe they're demons—or gods!"

He shook his head, "The only good side is that there are so few of them. Nowhere else in the world is it so rare for wizards to be born than in the Far East."

"Really?" Harry asked with interest, "Why?"

The man shrugged, "No one knows, but it's a good thing, at any rate."

* * *

After breakfast, Harry set out in search of his brother. It took two trips around the school grounds and several hours before the older boy found him, suddenly at Harry's shoulder.

"Do you have the book?" Kakashi asked without preamble.

"Huh?" For a moment, Harry thought he might already know about the book Hermione had sent him, although he didn't know how he could have found out about it.

"The Riddle book," Kakashi elaborated, an eyebrow raised.

"Oh!" Harry reached for his hip pouch, in easy access since he didn't have to wear his robes over the break. "Yeah, it's here. Lupin-sensei said a powerful spell or weapon will probably destroy it, but I haven't had a chance to try anything yet." He glanced at the Jounin, "What are you going to do?"

"Destroy them," Kakashi said simply, taking the book from Harry's hand."

Harry stared after him in surprise for a moment before hurrying after him. "What? Kakashi-niisan! You found out how to do it already?"

"Like your sensei said," Kakashi replied casually, "I'm going to use an unstoppable weapon."

"Unstoppable…?" Harry wondered, "Wait! You mean… what are you doing?"

"Hmm…. Surely you've heard of Sharingan no Kakashi's only original technique," the Jounin prompted, "Gai was going on and on about it after _that_ mission."

Harry's eyes widened in understanding. "You mean Raikiri!"

Kakashi didn't reply. He didn't have to; Harry knew he was right.

"What about…?" Harry glanced back at Savage uncomfortably. The man seemed interested, but Harry was sure he couldn't understand their conversation.

Kakashi took the initiative to switch over to English. "Savage-san can watch. He'll find it… interesting."

Harry frowned, "That doesn't seem like quite the right word. It'll be even more than interesting."

Kakashi shrugged.

"Harry," Savage drew even with the teen when the Jounin pulled ahead again. "What's going on?"

"You must be lucky today," Harry said, "Kakashi-niisan will let you watch his… technique."

"What technique? What's he going to do?" Savage tried not to let his anxiousness show, but he knew the young man was dangerous and couldn't help but feel a little uneasy about the unusual situation.

"Maa… you'll see," Harry replied.

Once they were safely ensconced in the Quidditch Stadium—or what remained of it—Kakashi reached into his chest pocket and pulled out the ring he'd placed inside for safe keeping. He looked at it carefully, and then stacked it on top of the book.

"Harii," he called, motioning the boy forward and holding the items towards him, the ring balanced on the worn cover of the book. "Throw them out when I give the signal."

Harry nodded, shuffling back a few steps as Kakashi moved further into the center of the field. "Savage-san," he started, glancing at the man briefly, "You should stay back. It's dangerous to be too close."

Savage made a disgruntled noise, and didn't retreat or advance, planting his feet firmly.

Kakashi turned so he was half facing them. He pushed up his headband and started to flick through hand seals quickly. Half a second later the technique flared to life in his right hand.

A loud, high pitched sound immediately filled the stadium, sounding like nothing more than hundreds, maybe thousands, of angry birds. Hot, blue energy pooled around his hand, threads of it raced like electricity up his arm and arced through the air in random, intense bursts. Kakashi moved his second arm to brace the deadly technique and gave a short nod.

Harry threw the diary hard, and the book soared through the air towards his brother in a predictable arc. Kakashi didn't move until it was close, and then he thrust his arm forward.

The chatter of birds increased both in volume and frequency, the high pitched chattering making Harry cringe from where he watched. The blue energy writhed and glowed hotter as it burst through the pages of the book.

Kakashi bit off a scream as his arm throbbed with a sudden pain. He clenched his jaw tightly and nodded a second time. The Chidori flickered in his hand, threatening to give out at any second, but he refused to give up when they were so close.

Harry hesitated, reading the tension in his brother's stance, but reluctantly flung the ring towards him. For an instant, Kakashi's breath caught, and his eyes clouded over, pain burning terribly through his arm as he tried to move it.

The Jounin staggered half a step, his Sharingan somehow remaining trained on the ring as it arced down. Grinding his teeth together hard, Kakashi forced his arm to move, only barely able to think beyond the pain. His vision flickered, swimming with blackness that only cleared for an instant at a time, allowing him brief flashes of the world around him.

Still, as though led by his Sharingan, which seemed to be tracking the motion of the ring without his conscious direction, his arms moved, the left forcing the right into position. Again, he was able to see, watching the ring in its final decent as his arm shot forward.

Pain exploded up his arm, reverberating through his entire body for a second time, and Kakashi's mind went completely blank, his eyes blind to everything but searing red pain. For a split second, he thought he saw his father; the man's eyes wide in surprise and his face lined with concern.

He couldn't hear past the buzzing in his ears, but he saw the man's unmasked mouth move, shouting his name before running towards him.

Then everything went black.

* * *

Harry rubbed at his eyes and blinked furiously, the flash of light having washed his vision in white. Slowly, he was able to make out suggestions of shapes, and then the two figures standing opposite each other in the middle of the field.

Frowning, Harry rubbed his eyes again—but he was still seeing double. His vision slowly sharpened, colors reasserting themselves in dark uniforms and white-washed hair. Then the figure on the right dropped to his knees and, very slowly, fell forward. The figure on the left surged forward, finally disappearing as it seemed to reach the other.

"Kakashi-niisan!" Harry could hardly hear his own voice, his ears ringing painfully, but he ignored it and moved, running towards his brother's side.

"Kakashi!" He shouted again, crouching as his eyes moved frantically over the Jounin's body. The man's entire right side was red with blood and the smell of burnt flesh had Harry gagging, fighting against the instinct to retch.

Harry didn't hear Savage approach, but he felt the Auror shake his shoulder roughly and steer him back a few steps, wand already out and flicking at his brother's prone body. Harry didn't have a chance to protest before his brother was floating into the air.

He looked at Savage warily and the man's lips moved, but he couldn't tell what he was saying, his ears still ringing.

"We need to get him to the hospital!" Harry shouted—his own voice sounded very far away.

Savage's lips moved again and he nodded. Harry thought he might have repeated the word _hospital_, but couldn't be absolutely sure. Still, he nodded, and stuck close beside Savage as the wizard steered his brother's body through the air.

A cool breeze blew through the Quidditch Stadium as they hurried out.

* * *

Harry's face turned warm with an embarrassed flush as he watched his brother's lips move. He glanced surreptitiously around the room to ensure no one could hear—Madam Pomfrey was rooting through her cupboards in an antechamber; Harry's sensitive hearing could just make out her indistinct mutterings, but she wouldn't be able to hear his brother's weak voice.

He let out a relieved sigh and turned back to face his brother, his cheeks still red.

It wasn't so much what he said, but _how_ he'd said it—and that he'd said it at all. Then again, it wasn't as though the word itself was something that would embarrass Harry, he was embarrassed only because he knew Kakashi would be embarrassed, and since the young man was unconscious at the moment, Harry was duty-bound to be embarrassed for him.

He hunched down a little further in his chair, wondering what the older boy's fatigued mind was imagining. Until Kakashi woke up, they wouldn't know the extent of damage that the backlash from the Horcruxes had caused—and they couldn't say when he'd wake up, either.

"_Very dark magic, that is,"_ Madam Pomfrey had said gravely once she'd discovered exactly what had put the Jounin in this state, _"The dark arts always have unpredictable side effects. With something like this, there's no predicting _what_ will happen."_

The case and point was Harry's scar—everything always seemed to come back to that these days. When he'd been young, he'd thought it was cool, and his classmates at the Academy had agreed. Now, though, it was like a fetter, binding him more and more tightly to everything he wanted to get away from.

"—tousan," the groaned word was much clearer than it had been the first time, and Harry's face flushed again.

He glanced around the room and stood abruptly. He started to walk away, then doubled back to hover nervously over his brother's bedside again.

Kakashi was a Jounin—and an ANBU Captain. He'd be humiliated if he knew how he was behaving. If he knew that even _Harry_ had been there to witness it.

Taking a deep breath, Harry reached for the bed curtains and drew them around his brother's prone form. He couldn't watch anymore, not while Kakashi was in such a weakened state.

Turning from the bed, Harry's stride was swift. He'd walk around for a while—hopefully Kakashi would be through the worst of it when he returned.

Harry didn't acknowledge Savage when he joined him at the door, but kept walking, not entirely sure where he was going until he was stepping out of the castle doors, his feet carrying him back to the Stadium.

He stopped just inside the ruined ring of bleachers, surveying the field for a moment. Paper was scattered everywhere from the journal, and Harry debated for a moment before moving to start picking up at the nearest sheet. At the very least, he could collect the remains of the items his brother had risked his life to destroy.

At one point, Harry found a scrap of leather from the cover. _"Tom Marvalo Rid—"_ was printed in flowing script on the back.

Involved in the repetitive task of collecting paper and searching for any remnants of the ring, Harry slowly calmed down. Even though it was Kakashi… the body couldn't be held under control _all_ the time. Anyway, he hadn't really heard anything important—just…

"Otousan," Harry muttered, trying the awkward word out. He could count the number of times he'd said it on one hand, and even then it had only been in conjunction with the story of a man he didn't really know. The word sounded empty when he used it; meaningless.

He roughly grabbed the last scrap of paper within his reach and straightened.

"What'd you say?" Savage asked, approaching from behind him and holding his own collection of torn paper.

Harry scowled, snatching the paper from him. "Nothing."

He would never be able to match the emotion he'd heard in his brother's voice; that desperate longing. Harry wasn't sure he'd _ever_ felt that kind of attachment. Even with Minato-sensei, who he'd considered as a father.

The idea seemed ridiculous to Harry now. He didn't even know what a father _was_; how it felt to have one. How could he even pretend to understand that bond between a son and his father?

Harry tore his thoughts away from the subject with a force of will. He was a Genin, not some angsting teenager. He needed to focus his mind on more important things, like finding what was left of that ring.

Looking around, Harry surveyed the battered stadium floor again.

* * *

Harry didn't knock on the door to Dumbledore's office when he entered, slamming the door behind him to prevent his Auror shadow from following. He slapped the scrap of leather from the journal and a broken, black stone on the surface of the wizard's desk.

"You promised my brother the next coordinate," he said stiffly and without preamble, "Give it to me."

Dumbledore blinked, looking down at the objects in surprise for a moment before his face relaxed a little. "Yes… I promised your brother… But, Harry," he looked up again, "I'm afraid the contract your brother had me sign demanded that I give the coordinate to him directly."

"Detarame," Harry snapped, his eyes blazing, "That's… ridiculous! Kakashi-niisan is in the hospital, as I'm sure you know, and Madam Pomfrey doesn't know when he'll wake up. I'm his brother—I'm the closest thing he has to a teammate out here. Which means while he's in the hospital, I'm responsible."

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed in a reasonable tone, "And I would like nothing more than to oblige you, Harry. But Kakashi's wording was very explicit. I trust, as a shinobi, you have an understanding of the importance of contracts."

"… Let me see the contract," Harry demanded.

The old wizard considered for a moment before pulling out his wand and giving it a sharp swish. A rolled parchment appeared in the air, and floated there until the elder wizard grasped it in his weathered hands. Calmly, he held it out to the young teen.

Harry snatched at the scroll and unrolled it swiftly, glancing down to the bottom to ensure the signature was really his brother's before returning to the top and slowly absorbing the terms in print.

Dumbledore watched patiently until Harry's eyes glanced up at him again. "Is it not as I told you?"

The Genin scowled and dropped the scroll on the desk again. "I'll be back."

* * *

It was late the next day when Kakashi finally woke. Harry was out on the liquid center of the lake at the time, and nearly skewered the poor owl who swooped towards him with the message. He was bursting through the infirmary doors less than five minutes later, cheeks red and breathing heavy from the run.

Kakashi was still laying back in his bed, and the Headmaster sat in a seat beside it. Both had looked up at his entrance and Harry took a moment to collect himself before striding across to them.

"Kakashi-niisan… how are you?" Harry asked when it became evident that the interrupted conversation wasn't going to continue any time soon.

The Jounin shrugged, only his left shoulder moving. "As well as can be expected."

Harry frowned, because that didn't really tell him a thing. He glanced at Dumbledore, then back at Kakashi. "Did he tell you the coordinate already?"

Kakashi shook his head, "We were waiting for you."

"What?" Harry blinked in surprise, "Really?"

"If something were to happen to me… you should at least know how to return," Kakashi said somberly, his eye casting a stern look at Dumbledore. "In Konoha, when a team leader is… incapacitated, his teammates assume all his duties and responsibilities. In a sense, if I'm dead, Harii is me until he returns to Konoha."

Briefly, Harry felt a thrill of smug triumph—he'd been right, after all—then he fully registered his brother's words and his concern doubled. "But that isn't going to happen, is it? I mean, you aren't in danger of dying just because of what you did out there…?"

"Madam Pomfrey has assured me that Kakashi's condition is stable," Dumbledore interceded calmly, "However, it seems that one of the Horcruxes he destroyed was a very powerful magical item in its own right. Your brother is probably lucky the damage wasn't worse."

Harry frowned, remembering the damaged black stone he'd found on the Quidditch pitch. It had been hit full force by his brother's Chidori, and he'd been surprised to find it more or less in one piece.

"What was it?" He asked, "More powerful than a Horcrux?"

The old wizard nodded. "It seems that the stone in that ring was actually an ancient artifact known as the Resurrection Stone. Legend has it, the stone was created by the Grim Reaper himself, and given to a wizard a millennia ago. It was said to have the powers to bring the dead back to life for a time… whether it actually may have worked, I'm afraid we will never know now."

Harry glanced at his brother. Kakashi was staring down at the blanket covering him, his exposed face unusually blank.

For a long moment, nobody spoke. Finally, it was Kakashi who broke the silence. "I believe it is time for you to give us the second coordinate."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Very well. If you remember, last time I gave you the necessary altitude; a very important dimension as you would be very unhappy to rematerialize under ground or hundreds of meters in the air. The two remaining dimensions, then, are those of Latitude and Longitude. I will give you the latter, first. Would you like me to write it down for you?"

"I have a good memory," Kakashi said dryly.

"Very well. The number is one hundred fifty-three," the wizard said, "That is one-five-three. Have you got it?"

Kakashi nodded and returned his eye to the blanket. Harry logged the number away, promising himself that he would look it up later.

* * *

"_You should go,"_ Kakashi had told him when Harry explained why Savage was frowning at him so disapprovingly. _"Hagrid-san seems to be entrusted with sensitive information even though he has a loose mouth. He might be a useful contact."_

Which was why Harry was slurping too bitter tea and grinding his teeth against a fist-sized sweet cake.

Across from him, Hagrid laughed loudly at his own anecdote—some ridiculous story involving a baby dragon sneezing flames. Harry wasn't quite sure whether it was meant to be taken seriously or not.

The large man leaned back in his seat; a huge, worn leather chair. He smiled as his laughter receded, his eyes squinting with the expression.

"Ya know," he started, deep voice gentle and relaxed, "When yeh didn't show up for yer first year, I was worried I'd never see yeh again."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his hard cake.

"Ah, well, so long as yer happy, is all that really matters," Hagrid said. His squinted black eyes peered at Harry warmly, "And yeh _are_ happy, aren't ya, Harry?"

Harry frowned slightly, feeling uneasy at the question. Hagrid wasn't the first to ask him that and it bothered him a little that these people didn't believe he could be happy apart from them. Still, the wizard seemed sincere.

"I'm happy in Konoha," he assured the man, "I'm… training for important work, and I live with my brother. I have friends there, and…" He still wasn't sure how to describe his relationship with Naruto. The little boy was both more and less than a friend—even though he didn't spend as much time with him, he felt more attached than he was to most people he knew.

"And I have a younger brother," he offered tentatively, then explained, "We're not really related… but he's an orphan, like me, and his parents were good to me before they died… he's a good kid, and I look out for him when I can."

When Harry looked up again, Hagrid was smiling widely once more, his eyes nearly squeezed shut. "That sounds wonderful, Harry… And you… out of everyone, you deserve to be happy."

Harry flushed a little and looked away. He wasn't used to being thought of as important—he was a Genin, which wasn't a job to scoff at, but it was the lowest rung on the shinobi ladder, and he was by no means indispensable.

"I'm glad you came here today," Hagrid shifted, changing the subjects as he pushed out of his chair and turned to rifle through his large, wooden cupboards. "I've got something I've been meaning to give you."

Harry turned his attention back to the cake. He gnawed on it for a moment, then dunked it in his tea, allowing it to absorb some of the scalding liquid before attempting another taste.

Across the room, Fang pushed himself up, padding across the cluttered floor to lay his head in Harry's lap. The Genin hesitated, glancing at the giant's hunched back—Hagrid was muttering as he sorted through things—and lowered the cake in front of the hound's nose.

Fang's mouth opened quickly, lapping at the tea-soaked area before gently sneaking the entire thing from his hand and chewing happily as Harry scratched behind the dog's ears.

"Ah!" Hagrid's exclamation was accompanied by a bit more twisting of his wide shoulders before he straightened, turning towards Harry again.

"Here, now," Hagrid walked across to him and lowered the object to the table. At first, Harry thought it was a tall, thin book. Then he realized that the large, clumsy hands were holding a frame.

Harry frowned curiously at the trio in the picture. A comfortable sitting room was around them—a fire blazed in one corner—and a tall, black haired man stood, grinning, with his arm around a woman with dark red locks and bright green eyes. Cradled in the woman's arms was a tiny infant with a fuzz of black hair and a soundless giggle coloring his face.

"That's yer mum," Hagrid supplied, a beefy finger tapping on the glass over the woman. "Yer dad," he added, pointing to the man. His finger moved to the baby, "And, of course, that's you, Harry."

Harry's frown deepened, and he stared intently at the baby, attempting to make out familiar features which might prove the man's announcement one way or another. He'd heard of his infanthood from the Dursleys—every time his aunt had to take him out in public she'd gripe about his _"freakish"_ hair and tell him that it used to be black. He'd never really imagined what it would look like—seeing it in front of him was strange.

The baby didn't have a single strand of white hair, and his forehead was soft and unscarred, forest green eyes alight with an innocent sort of cheer that Harry wasn't completely convinced he'd ever shared. Still, they were the same shade, and if he looked carefully, he could see a little something in the turn of the lips and the shape of the chin, disguised as it was with baby fat.

"You're… giving this to me?" Harry asked uncertainly, still staring at the baby in the photo and trying to imagine himself as that infant.

"It's yers," Hagrid confirmed, releasing the frame into Harry's hands. "I know they died when yeh was young, and I thought you'd like to have it."

"… Thanks," Harry said softly. He tore his eyes away from the picture and shifted the frame to his side, where he could no longer see the image—something about it unsettled him. "I should go," he added quickly, pushing away Fang's head so he could stand.

"Hope to see you around sometime," Hagrid said.

Harry offered him a tight smile before he ducked out of the little shack. He glanced at Savage outside, and then hurried toward the castle, failing in his attempts to push the picture from his mind.

* * *

"I'm surprised you haven't tried to escape, yet," Harry joked in an attempt to ease the tension that seemed thick around his brother's bed.

Kakashi made a disinterested sound, staring at the pages of his worn, orange book. Harry doubted he was even reading it because he hadn't seen him turn the page since he arrived.

Thinking of his own book, the one he'd been given by Hermione, Harry considered telling the Jounin their suspicions about Japan. He'd thought of it often in the last couple of days, as he visited his bed-ridden brother, but it wasn't really something he wanted to bring up when Kakashi was in this sort of mood—the man was liable to shoot it down before he'd even fully considered the possibility.

Harry thought the evidence supporting the theory was stronger than ever. With the longitudinal position Dumbledore had given them, Fire Country could be somewhere on the Eastern shore of the island country, Harry had checked and double-checked at least a dozen times.

Then again, the land formation was still all wrong. Japan _couldn't be_ the Elemental Countries. So how did it work in with everything?

"The train's supposed to arrive this evening," Harry said, changing the subject, "Classes will be starting again tomorrow."

He wasn't looking forward to it. For the first time in months he'd finally had a few days where he didn't have to spend every waking moment emerged in the culture of wizards.

He was nearly caught up in his classes, at least to the point where he wasn't earning failing grades anymore, and most of the teachers were on break, as well, so there hadn't been remedial lessons. And ever since Christmas, Ron hadn't made one comment about him being a Death Eater or having some illicit relationship with Hermione. The red-head had hardly spoken with him at all, but when he had it had been with the neutral tone of a teammate who didn't like you but knew his life depended on getting along.

Kakashi looked up sharply, frowning. "Classes haven't started yet?"

Harry shook his head. "They gave use two weeks off."

"Two weeks for one holiday?" Kakashi asked incredulously.

Harry shook his head again. "There were two holidays. They celebrated—ah—Christmas, and then New Years."

"They celebrated the New Year already?"

Harry nodded, "On January first."

"But it isn't for another two weeks," Kakashi argued, "It's… the twenty-fourth—no, the twenty-second this year, isn't it?"

"I think so," Harry agreed, frowning. He couldn't be sure. When he'd left the village, it was still early in the summer, so he hadn't really been paying attention to when the new year would start. "Weasley said they celebrate it on the first every year, though."

Kakashi was silent for a moment. He shook his head in exasperation and turned his attention back to his book, looking a little disturbed.

Harry could relate. Nothing was the same here as it was in Konoha. From the language to the culture, and even holidays that seemed as thought they'd be international—like when the calendar moved ahead to the next year. The Genin felt a pang of homesickness, and wondered how everyone was doing back in Konoha.

Had his teammates made it to Chuunin, yet? Had they gone to another exam without him? He hoped Naruto was doing better at the Academy; he knew the five-year-old had gotten off to a rocky start in the beginning of the year, but they'd only been about two months in when he left. Now he'd be nearing the end of his first year, and would probably have settled in—and he'd be a growing six-year-old, rather than the puny five-year-old Harry remembered.

Harry recalled the first time he'd seen the little blond boy, in the hospital when he'd been in his mother's arms, and how tiny he'd been. In turn, the image of himself, as a small, black-haired baby followed at the memory's heels, and Harry wondered whether his own mother had looked at him with the soft pride he'd seen in Kushina's exhausted eyes when she'd held Naruto.

"Time for lunch, boys," Madam Pomfrey announced, approaching them with a tray. She looked at the younger boy, "They'll be serving in the Great Hall, now, Harry."

The Genin nodded vaguely, glad for the distraction His thoughts jumped back to his home and he wondered whether any of them were thinking about him like he was thinking about them—what with Naruto busy at the Academy and Tenzou and his teammates running around on missions.

They probably assumed he was dead by now; it had been ages since he'd been allowed to send that letter.

Harry watched absently as the mediwitch arranged Kakashi's tray on his lap. The young man set his book aside and picked up a spoon, idly twirling it in his fingers as he gazed back at Harry. That was enough to break the younger boy from his thoughts—he flushed a little and glanced at the tray—a thick, murky looking soup accompanied by a stack of crackers and a small dish of something creamy.

"… I was just wondering what everyone's doing right now," he muttered self-consciously.

Kakashi shrugged one shoulder, "The same thing they usually do. Just because we're not there doesn't mean anything's really changed."

"… I bet Gai misses you, though," Harry offered, "He won't have anyone to challenge."

"Maybe he's decided to bother someone else for a change," Kakashi dismissed.

Harry watched as he spooned a bite of the creamy substance into his mouth, hand moving a little awkwardly, and frowned in confusion. Kakashi had long since mastered the use of English silverware, but today he didn't look very comfortable with it for some reason.

"You can go," Kakashi said, glancing up at him, "You'll lose your appetite if you stare too closely at hospital food."

Harry frowned, looking up at the Jounin, taking in the details of his behavior and his eyes widened in surprise. "Why are you eating with your left hand?"

Kakashi blinked slowly, his expression turning blank. "What do you mean? Why shouldn't I?"

"You're right handed," Harry replied.

"Shinobi are ambidextrous," Kakashi countered, "I practice doing everything with both arms."

"But you…" Harry trailed off, then surged to his feet, face masked with worry. "You haven't used your right arm at all in the last week! Not since you destroyed those Horcruxes! Is something wrong with it?"

Kakashi shrugged and Harry jumped, pointing at the motion. "Even there!" He exclaimed incredulously, "You only shrugged with your left arm!"

"Harii… it isn't that bad," Kakashi sighed.

"Let me see," Harry demanded, "If you're seriously injured, I should know about it!"

"…" Kakashi didn't move to extract the arm and looked away from his brother briefly before returning his eyes to the boy. "That would be a little difficult since I can't move it."

* * *

He watched, silent and invisible as the dark haired man silently stacking papers with a blank, emotionless face. Occasionally the man would look up, black eyes glancing around the room, but he was confident he couldn't be seen.

It occurred to him that he should not know about the mission this man was sent on; the failed retrieval of Hatake Kakashi and Harii. He would probably be expelled from service if his superiors knew he had looked at that folder when he'd been on guard outside the room of records. It would probably be for the best if he forgot everything he'd read.

But this man was the closest any of them had been to his only friend in months. Tenzou hadn't been consulted since the initial disappearance, and the one time he'd questioned the Hokage on the matter, he'd been told the matter was confidential.

The teen felt a flare of irritation. His unique set of skills could only be useful in the investigation, and it didn't make sense for the Hokage to ignore that just because he had a personal relationship with one of the missing brothers.

Which was why he was spying on the prestigious house of the Uchiha in his off hours.

Uchiha Ryoga. The only known survivor of the Hatake Retrieval Mission. Diagnosed with severe comprehensive amnesia, to the extent that he hadn't even known how to dress himself when he'd first been delivered back into their hands.

Bullshit, in Tenzou's opinion. Those damn Uchiha were hiding something, and he planned to find out what it was.

Finally, the door at the end of the room slid open. Tenzou reaffirmed the close hold he had on his own chakra, ensuring the newcomer would not be able to sense his technique, and waited.

A woman stepped inside, carrying a tray of food. She walked silently across to a small, square table that sat low to the ground, and knelt, placing the tray on the surface. She remained there for a moment before walking over to the man, who hadn't even looked up.

She knelt in front of him, across from the work he was doing.

"Ryoga… san," she began softly, "How are you feeling today?"

"Today. Better," the man only briefly glanced up at the woman before turning his eyes back to the paper he had been looking at. Tenzou noticed that his eyes returned to the top of the page.

"Do you… remember?" The woman asked, a desperate sort of sadness in her tone.

"Do you remember… what?" The man prompted, looking up again with a slight frown.

"Anything," the woman sighed, bowing her head. "Ryoga… don't you remember anything? Tsuchio-san said you were improving… you remember Tsuchio-san?"

"Tsuchio-san…" The man was thoughtfully silent for a moment before shaking his head and turning back to the paper, "I'm working."

The woman was silent for a long moment, and the man managed to read through most of the paper. "What are you working on?" She asked at last.

"What are you working on." The man was silent for a long moment, then looked up, his frown deepening. "I don't remember. I'm supposed to ask…"

"Shikuro-san?" The woman supplied worriedly. She stood up, and bowed to the man. "I apologize for distracting you, Ryoga-san. I will find Shikuro for you." She bowed once more before leaving the room.

The man stared after her for a long moment before his eyes returned to the paper, starting from the top once more. Slowly, Tenzou withdrew himself from the room, frowning as he pulled from the wood to emerge in the shadows behind the house, running low on chakra.

Quickly, he leaped to the roof, and was out of the Uchiha complex before anyone even realized he was there, promising himself he would try again later. Someone was bound to make a breakthrough eventually, and when they did, he wanted to be the first to know what had become of his friend.

* * *

Harry stared, watching as his father—_James Potter_, he corrected himself silently—tickled his belly, eliciting what looked to be a bubbly laugh from the young Harry he was holding.

Kakashi had an appointment with Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary—the witch had some new ideas of things to try on his arm. Harry kept his senses alert for the Jounin's chakra signature, aware that he could show up at any moment.

His eyes, though, were trained on the small, happy family he'd lost before he was even old enough to remember. He wondered what it would have been like, to grow up with them, unable to help himself. He wouldn't have known Kakashi… but maybe he would have had more little brothers and sisters eventually. Maybe they could have been happy together, and held the bond he saw in civilian families, one that had nothing to do with a shared duty to the Hokage.

Of course, it didn't matter what _could_ _have_ been, because the past was set and the man and woman in the photograph were dead. What mattered more was what _had_ been. He had had parents who loved him, at one point—a real mother and a real father. There had been Sakumo, as well, of course, but he'd never known the man, even as a baby, and the Hatake had never even known he existed.

With the photograph, the Potters suddenly seemed more like family than the long history of loyal men and women lying in the Hatake clan graveyard.

Harry hated himself for thinking it, but the feeling persisted nonetheless.

The Genin was involved enough in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the wizard approaching until he was almost there. Quickly, Harry moved to slide the picture—he'd removed it from its frame—into one of his belt pouches. The photograph was safely hidden from view by the time the man was next to him.

"Harry," he greeted with a smile, "How are you? Did you get my present?"

Harry pushed himself to his feet and took a moment to decide how to react. His godfather had disappeared shortly before he was released to return to his classes, and Harry hadn't spent much time considering where he might have been.

He settled on a stiff, "I'm fine. I didn't know you were coming back."

The man grinned cockily, "Yeah, the Ministry's agreed to reinstate me as an Auror—I've just finished a crash refresher course and have a little down time before returning to active duty." He snorted, "If I'd known they'd cleared my name already, I would've come out of hiding sooner. Damn if I don't hate slinking around in the shadows—a wizard should be out fighting and protecting what he believes in!"

Harry nodded absently, frowning a little.

"You _did_ get my present, didn't you?" Sirius insisted, "And you know how to ride—right?"

Harry nodded again. "A few of my classmates taught me earlier in the year. It seems like… a useful tool." When he'd finally gotten around to opening the rest of his gifts, Ron's eyes had practically gleamed with jealousy when they landed on the sleek, red-handled broomstick his godfather had sent him.

"It's more than a tool!" Sirius exclaimed, "There's nothing better for a young wizard than to have a go on a broomstick! If you've flown before, I'm sure you know what I mean. Have you gotten a chance to try it out, yet?"

"Er—not yet," Harry admitted.

"Well, we need to fix that right away!" Sirius said, "The Firebolt is supposed to be the fastest, smoothest, most aerodynamic ride in the history of broomsticks! I want to know if it lives up to the hype."

"I can't now," Harry said quickly as the man began to steer him back towards the castle. Sirius paused, looking back at him questioningly. "I'm waiting for my brother," Harry explained, "He's with Madam Pomfrey right now. He promised to find me after his appointment."

"Oh," the man's face dropped quickly. "Well… maybe later, then."

Harry nodded and shifted awkwardly in the silence that fell.

"I… guess I'll leave you to your brother, then," Sirius offered uncomfortably.

"Well… I don't really know when he'll arrive," Harry said. He hesitated a moment, then added, "You could… stay. If you want. Um… you could tell me more about my parents—I mean, my mum and, ah, James… if you want."

Immediately, the wizard brightened again, and when they'd settled down on the grass, Harry couldn't help but imagine the tall, black-haired man and the beautiful, red-haired woman standing side-by-side as they fought for their lives together in the tale his godfather spun.


	21. Responsibility

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: As of now, I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _Naruto_. The outlook doesn't look good for tomorrow, either.

It seems I overestimated how quickly I could get a chapter from paper to hard drive, so it's a day later than I thought I'd be able to get it up... Ah, well, not too bad. Chapter 22 will probably be late, too, as I'm going to be in Washington DC for a little over a week. I'll aim for June 23 at the latest, although hopefully I'll be able to get it up before then.

Anyway, thanks for your responses to chapter 20! As you know, it's been hectic lately, so I haven't had a chance to reply, but I'll do my best to get back to most of you over the next couple of days. As it is, I'm going to have to post this and run off to a performance. Hope you enjoy chapter 21!

Thankst to Escalus for the catch on a typo.

Chapter 21 - Responsibility

"How's your arm?" Harry asked eagerly, jumping to his feet even before Sirius realized the older ninja was there. "Did Madam Pomfrey fix it?"

"Her techniques didn't work," Kakashi's tone was neutral and his face gave nothing away, eyes fixed on Sirius.

Harry frowned, "Oh... well, is she going to try again?"

The Jounin shrugged with one shoulder. "Probably," he said, "She believes there's a chance for complete recovery."

Harry raised his eyebrows, "Even though it hasn't improved at all in the last month?"

"Who said it hasn't improved?" Kakashi asked casually.

"Well... you can't move it," Harry said uncertainly, "Can you?"

"I can feel pain in the center of my hand," Kakashi stated, "Which means the nerves up and down the length are still alive."

"Ah... so... what did she say she was going to do?" Harry asked, frowning.

"I don't know. She kicked me out of the infirmary and told me not to bring my kunai next time," Kakashi replied promptly.

Harry's frown deepened, "What?"

"She wasn't happy when I stabbed my palm to make the point," Kakashi supplied.

"You what!" Harry looked across at Sirius in surprise when he realized they had both spoken at once. The man smiled sheepishly and Harry turned back to his brother.

"You _stabbed_ yourself?" He asked incredulously, before switching languages and repeating the question.

Kakashi ignored the switch and shrugged, "It wasn't deep. Pomfrey-san healed it quickly."

Sirius shook his head in exasperation. "You ninja are all crazy."

Kakashi scowled and looked from the wizard to Harry. "What is _he_ doing here again?"

Harry smiled before he could stop himself, and quickly wiped the expression from his face. "He—uh... we were just talking."

"Harry wanted to know about his parents," Sirius added, frowning back at the Jounin, "You don't have any right to try to stop him from knowing the truth."

Harry flushed with embarrassment. "I was just curious," he said quickly, scrutinizing his brother's expression in an attempt to tell what he thought of the matter. "It doesn't really matter, I'm..."

"You should know about your mother's heritage," Kakashi said abruptly—Harry stared at him in surprise. The Jounin glanced at him, "A shinobi should know everything there is to be known about himself. The unknown can always be used against you."

Harry glanced between his brother and godfather. "Yeah," he agreed hesitantly, "That's... what I mean."

"There's something else you should know about, too," Kakashi said, "Come with me." He turned quickly, and began to walk even before Harry agreed.

"Maybe we can try out that broom later," Harry offered in a brief apology to his godfather before hurrying after his brother, his face still red. He heard the murmur of Savage's voice behind him, and glanced over his shoulder to see the man smile at Sirius before following after them.

Harry increased his pace to walk astride the young man and shifted languages a second time. "Niisan, it didn't mean anything."

This time, the Jounin followed suit. His eyes were focused straight ahead, his gait swift. "You are more susceptible to sympathizing with the enemy because you have family among them, Harii," he stated crisply, "You need to be more careful."

"I'm not—!" Harry bit back his retort halfway through and forced himself to think over the situation.

Kakashi glanced at him, "Yes?"

"... Maybe... I sympathize a little," Harry said grudgingly, "But they aren't really the enemy—are they? Not _all_ of them, I mean."

The Jounin raised an eyebrow, "Did you forget that they abducted us? That all along they've been forcing us to play their parts in this stupid game?"

"You've been helping them," Harry defended, "You hurt your arm to destroy those things."

"Because the only way to get you out of here is to beat them at their own game," Kakashi said irritably, "Are you starting to think you want to stay here? Should I just forget the whole plan and leave you to become a wizard in this—_place_?"

Harry cringed and increased his pace again to match his brother's. "I _don't_ want to stay! I want to go back to the village! I want to live there and I want to become a Chuunin and protect everyone! But..." He hesitated, glancing at the castle briefly and then back at his brother. "Isn't it alright if I want to know about my... my mother, too? If you didn't know anything about her—wouldn't you take the opportunity to know about yours, too?"

Kakashi didn't look at him. "I _don't_ know anything about my mother," he said sharply, "And I don't care. I know as much as I need to, and so do you. All you're doing is creating an emotional attachment to this place."

"Kakashi!" Harry protested again, "I was just talking with my godfather!"

The Jounin stopped abruptly and fixed his brother with a hard look. "I don't care if you make friends here, Harii, but you know you're going to have to leave them behind. It will be harder for you if you become too attached. _Listen_ to yourself—you hardly know that man and you're already so familiar. You don't even know that he really _is_ your godfather; if such a position even exists."

Harry didn't reply immediately, and after a moment the two began walking again. "I know my parents existed," he said at last, quietly. "I know that Lily and James Potter existed. And Sirius can tell me about them; that's all that really matters. Niisan, I don't want to stay here, but even so, since I _am_ here now, I might as well learn about them."

"Then ask your _godfather_ to talk quickly," Kakashi said sharply, "Because we will be leaving by the end of the month."

Harry didn't have the opportunity to question the declaration, because his brother vanished in an instant. The Genin kept up his pace—he didn't feel like talking to Savage, and he had a lot to think about.

* * *

"I think I know where a Horcrux is," Kakashi said without preamble upon entering the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore seemed to take the announcement in stride. He set the book he was studying on his desk and peered over his reading glasses at the young man. "I see."

"I know where it is," Kakashi repeated, "But I don't know how to reach it. If I provide the location, you provide the means of entry, and I provide the means of destroying the item, then you will give me the final coordinate, correct?"

"... I hardly think you are in any condition to destroy another Horcrux," Dumbledore said calmly, "Perhaps it would be wise to give yourself more time to recover."

"You will give me the coordinate, correct?" Kakashi repeated.

The old wizard sighed, but nodded. "If you provide the location, as well as the means of destruction, then, yes, I will give you the final coordinate."

Kakashi nodded shortly. "I found a cave near the sea," he stated, "Inside there was something I couldn't understand at the time. I was able to see something that might have been a tunnel, but it was hidden to me. The cave is the one connected to your Tom Riddle-san, which means the hidden tunnel could lead to a Horcrux."

Dumbledore frowned, "Why didn't you tell me about the cave earlier?"

"You didn't offer me a coordinate for its location," Kakashi said coolly.

"..." The wizard was silent for several seconds. He released another sigh. "Very well. I will examine the cave and see if there is anything to be found there. In the meantime, you will tell me anything _else_ you have been holding back from me. If you're going home soon, it's the least you can do."

"The least I could do is kill you," Kakashi said dryly, "Maybe I will leave you what you want in a letter, if everything works out."

* * *

Harry sat in a tree near the edge of the forest, staring blankly into the darkness between trees. He wasn't entirely sure what to do about Sirius and Kakashi and the couple in the picture in his pocket.

He wanted to know more about them—he couldn't say exactly when, but somehow he'd started to think of them as _people_. He'd started to think of them as _important_ people. People who loved him and deserved his recognition, at the very least.

But he didn't want to alienate Kakashi in the process. James and Lily might have been his family when he was a baby, but _Kakashi_ was his family _now_. And he really didn't want to stay at Hogwarts. He _wanted_ to return to Konoha. He wasn't sure how he could make his brother see that when he construed everything he did in the worst possible light.

The boy sighed in frustration and swung his head against the tree trunk behind him, just hard enough to cause a brief flash of pain followed by a distracting numbness. He scowled.

It would have been so much easier if Hagrid hadn't given him the photo in the first place.

"I'm a _Genin_," he muttered out loud, the words barely audible to his own ears. "My first responsibility is _always_ to the village."

His second was to his teammates and comrades. His family didn't factor into the equation until number three. So did that mean it was wrong for him to want to learn about them as long as he was stuck here?

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry dropped down from the tree. Family was important—any shinobi would agree, and especially those from the major clans. The only _real_ complaint Kakashi had was that he was growing attached. And he _wasn't_.

Harry turned to find Savage stepping through the dense underbrush, a frown on his face. His mouth opened, but another voice beat him to his reprimand.

"_There_ you are!" Sirius' voice was exasperated—Harry watched as the long haired man fought against a snag in the brush.

"Savage-san," Harry acknowledged coolly, "Sirius-san." He _wasn't_ attached to his godfather, whatever his brother thought. When he looked at him, it didn't inspire the sort of feelings he experienced around Kakashi, Tenzou, Naruto, or even his teammates.

_But_, a small, traitorous part of his mind felt compelled to amend, _he did feel_ _something_. And it wasn't altogether bad.

"San?" Sirius repeated, glancing between the thirteen-year-old and Savage. "What does _that_ mean?"

"That Harry's feeling antisocial and doesn't want to talk with us right now," Savage supplied swiftly.

Harry felt his face beginning to heat up. He scowled. "It does not," he grumbled, despite the fact that he _didn't_ want to talk with them at the moment. "It just means... it's a more—_polite_—way of saying someone's name. Similar to Mister, I guess."

Frowning, Sirius nodded. "I see." He glanced at Savage, "So he says that when he doesn't want to talk. Interesting."

Harry glowered, considering arguing back—he didn't use suffixes _just_ because he didn't want to talk!—but that was what they _wanted_. Turning abruptly, he began to stalk away, angling towards the edge of the forest without passing too closely to the wizards. They hurried after him.

"I thought we were done with angry-Harry," Sirius said, struggling to keep up with the fast pace the Genin set through the woods. "Did I say something offensive again? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry shot him an irritated glare. "Don't assume to know what I think or feel—you don't even know me."

"If we don't," Savage pushed his way past Sirius, "It's only because you do your best to keep everyone out. There's no reason to act angry over it now. We can't know what's bothering you unless you say it."

Harry shot the man a sidelong glare. "What _bothers_ me is that you think you have any right to know. Stop acting like you think you're my friends—you don't even belong to Konoha."

Sirius bristled. "I get it. So you can't acknowledge anyone outside your village. Sounds like a merry group of bigots."

"There's no point in forming relationships with people who just want to keep me from going home." Harry said coldly. "Besides, I'll be leaving soon. There wouldn't be time to form any sort of bond if I _did_ want to. Of course, I don't."

"You've been talking to your brother again, haven't you?" Savage asked.

Harry glared. "What's that supposed to mean? We're brothers—we talk. That isn't unusual."

"I'm just not sure I like the ideas he puts in your head," Savage said as they stepped through the last layer of trees at the edge of Hogwarts' grounds.

"That's something you have in common, then," Harry said sharply, turning to face the man. "But what neither of you seem to understand is that I can think for myself. You can try to make Kakashi-niisan out to be a bad person, but you won't convince me when there's so much you don't understand. And the same goes for him—I don't trust my brother blindly, Savage-san, whatever you might think, but we do share many of the same beliefs. I might not be as old, but there are things I understand better than anyone. And I'm not going to let you or anyone sway my thoughts just because you have a large sense of worth."

Sirius laughed—the other two looked at him in surprise. Still laughing, the man clapped Harry on the shoulder; the Genin only flinched a little at the sudden, unexpected contact. "That's the spirit, Harry! Never let anyone tell you what to think. I'm sure your parents would _all_ be proud of that ideal."

Harry raised an eyebrow, staring at the man with an edge of incredulity.

Sirius laughed again. "At least, your godfather certainly is."

Harry shrugged off his hand. "Then you won't mind if I don't take your words to heart, either—naa, Sirius?"

* * *

The disturbing, wrenching feeling was accompanied by an intense pressure everywhere on his person. Kakashi's ears popped when the excess pressure disappeared an instant later.

He shook off the hand on his arm and stepped forward.

The sky was heavily clouded, and the air thick with humidity, small crystals of liquid already misting around them. Kakashi's eyes narrowed, peering through the darkness. The bay below them was choppy with violent waves.

"... The entrance to the cave is partially below the water level," the Jounin announced after a moment. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Nothing a simple spell can't take care of," Dumbledore replied, his breath coming in heavy heaves.

Kakashi looked back at him with a frown. "If you were too weak to complete the task, you should have sent one of your staff."

"All we're here for is to take a look around," the wizard replied tersely, "I'm not so decrepit that I can't handle a bit of scouting." He straightened with an effort and moved closer to the Jounin, standing at the edge of the cliffs where the wind whipped his robes more violently than ever. "Down there, you say?"

Lifting his left arm, Kakashi pointed, and Dumbledore followed the line. He made a noise of dissent.

"It's there," Kakashi assured him, "My night vision is among the best in my line of work."

The wizard made another grudging noise. "If you say so, Mr. Hatake."

Kakashi waited as the old man gathered himself, his breathing slowly returning to a steady rate. The Jounin masked his impatience with practiced ease and took the time to study their surroundings once more.

"Assuming you are ready, Kakashi," the wizard prompted at last.

Together, the two leapt from the cliff.

* * *

"Kakashi!" Harry shouted.

The Jounin either didn't hear him or he ignored him, his arm thrusting forward with a wave of destruction, driving through faceless figures in robes and half of the Hokage Mountain.

Harry was helpless to do anything. His legs wouldn't move and he couldn't seem to form further words, no matter how much he tried to scream and shout and warn his brother of the robed figure that had appeared behind him while he was otherwise distracted.

The wizard had the grotesque face of a Mountain Demon; a wide, square-toothed mouth, a pair of beady eyes, bulging cheek bones, and a gray, sickly tone of skin. The Genin knew immediately that this was the monster that had killed the Potters. And the queasy feeling in his gut suggested he would not like the things he was planning to do with the wand perched in his hand.

Harry struggled to free himself from whatever was binding him in place, but the oni flicked his wand, and with a jet of green his brother couldn't even have seen coming, Kakashi toppled off the edge of the cliff.

He was screaming before he could stop himself, and running, although he wasn't sure when that had become possible. Voldemort turned to face him, and the unwieldy robe melted from his figure, leaving him in a bulky brown flak jacket and tight, black leggings around knobby legs.

The wizard's unnaturally wide mouth twisted into a feral grin and a glint of metal distracted Harry, his gaze drawn to the demon's forehead, where a hitai-ate was tied. The Genin stared, horrified, at the struck-out symbol of a Leaf.

With a hacking sort of cough, the wizard spoke in a hissing voice. "As you would say… Sayonara, Harii-kun."

Harry started awake in his bed, breathing heavy and mind racing. It took him a moment longer than it should have to identify the enclosed canopy of his bed in Gryffindor Tower.

He didn't move, remaining exactly where he was as his breathing rasped in his ears and Voldemort's words to him echoed in his mind, accompanied by the haunting words of Professor Trelawney some three months earlier.

* * *

Kakashi watched, eyelid heavy with skepticism as the elderly wizard examined the wall he'd pointed out to him. The occasional _"mhmm" _and _"yes" _escaped him and a few minutes later he drew a knife from somewhere on his person.

"I see."

The Jounin tensed, ready for anything, but he didn't have a chance to question the wizard's motives verbally because milliseconds later, Dumbledore had brought the knife to bear on his own arm. The spray of blood suggested he had nicked one of the lesser arteries, but with a wave of his wand, already employed in lighting the cave, Kakashi was sure the bleeding had stopped.

Possible injury was far from his mind, however, as the rock face disappeared under the wizard's splattered blood. Dumbledore made a disgruntled sound and Kakashi's nose wrinkled under his mask as the stagnant air from beyond wafted out of the doorway, carrying the bitter stench of decaying flesh.

"I would have thought even _he _had higher class than that," the old man grumbled before leading the way through the stone archway, feet sloshing through the ankle deep water flooding the cave floor.

It was a short two meters before the tunnel opened into a large cavern. The scent of decay was stronger than ever and Kakashi was glad they hadn't brought his brother. He had grown used to the smell after years on the battlefield as a Chuunin, but Harry had a bit of a weak stomach.

Dumbledore held his wand aloft, for what help the small light provided. Far out, in what looked to be the center of an expansive, subterranean lake, an eerie green light reflected off the dark surface of the still water. Closer at hand, though, the light only revealed a portion of the thin, curved path around the lake—little more than a ledge—and the dark surface.

Kakashi took a step closer to the bank, peering at the lake. Even so close, he couldn't see through the liquid. It looked black, or some other dark, dense color. The stench suggested blood, and even the Jounin was uneasy at the thought of what might have occurred to form such a large pool of blood—if that's what it was.

Kakashi crouched, dipping two fingers into the edge of the lake and removing them, examining the substance. The way it felt on his skin, the liquid viscosity as it dripped back into the reservoir, and the sheen of the light reflecting off of it. He sniffed cautiously, but couldn't make out anything insightful over the stench of rotting flesh. He straightened.

"It isn't entirely blood," he decided, glancing at the wizard, "It's too thin. But I suspect a higher concentration than I have seen mixed with water like this before. For a lake of this side, dozens of people would have to be drained completely."

He glanced across at the light again. "If there is a Horcrux here, it must be in the center. Stay here and I will run across and get it."

The wizard frowned. "I am not sure that would be wise, Mr. Hatake. As you say, these waters contain a high concentration of blood. There is only one creature I know of that could thrive in an environment like this, and it is not one you would want to come into contact with in any situation."

"I think I can take care of myself," Kakashi said coolly.

For a moment, the old man looked as though he was going to protest further. Instead, he shook his head. "Very well. Run across, if you can make it. I will look for a boat in which to join you. I doubt the lake will be the last of the magical traps Tom has set, and a wizard may yet come in handy."

Kakashi gave a slight nod, as though to say _"suit yourself"_ and stepped off the bank.

Immediately, his senses were flaring with alarm—something was moving towards him quickly from below the surface. The Jounin sprang to the side as something pale leaped from the waters like a large fish.

Kakashi's mouth felt acrid as he realized what it was. For him, so close, there could be no mistake. It had definitely been a corpse. At least, it was something that looked and smelled like one, although he had rarely known corpses to rise up and fight, and certainly never in such a manner.

He didn't have time to analyze his grotesque attacker further, because the surface of the lake was rippling slightly with further movement just below the surface. The Jounin ran with a sudden burst of speed.

Behind him—and in front—the still lake burst to life. Waves churned on the surface as more of the corpse-like creatures leapt at him. They were quick—and faster still as he neared the source of the light, a small island in the middle of the lake—but none of them was a match for shinobi.

Coming to a halt on the island, Kakashi spun, kunai already in hand, and let them fly, impaling several of the still air-born monstrosities. They fell limply back into the water. A few more jumps followed further out, and the lake became still once more, so quickly that it only made the Jounin more nervous.

Kakashi frowned, muscles remaining tense and senses alert. Even though the lake appeared still, he could hear something moving through the water—behind him!

The man spun around, knives at the ready in his left hand. Dumbledore's raised wand illuminated the small, rickety boat that he rode in, slowly making his way across the lake. Kakashi slowly lowered his weapons.

Moving around the small island, the Jounin took it in, keeping half an eye on the wizard's progress. It was very small; not even five paces across. In the center a stone basin was raised on a dais, brim full of a bright green liquid radiating the bright, sickly green light he'd seen from the shore.

Leaning over the basin, Kakashi peered inside. Something sparkled at the bottom. The shinobi presumed it was what they had come for.

He reached into a pouch on his belt, pulling out a coil of wire and expertly rigging a slipknot at the end—even having his right arm immobile only hampered him slightly.

He was about to feed the wire down when the soft _crrshnk_ of the boat running ashore brought his attention back to Dumbledore, who was climbing out of the dingy, one long, spindly leg after the other. The wizard stood nearby, peering at him through his glasses but not saying a word.

Kakashi returned his attention to the cauldron and the item it held, carefully lowering the wire into the liquid. Sliding it underneath the object, Kakashi gently pulled, slipping the knot closed until it fit snugly. He pulled.

The Jounin frowned, shifting his grip on the wire a little more tightly, and pulled again. The wire was taut but refused to yield. Gritting his teeth, Kakashi straightened a little, yanking hard on the wire—it snapped and he stumbled back a step or two before regaining his balance, heel touching the water.

Frowning, Dumbledore approached the basin. Kakashi watched, scowling, as he waved his wand over the surface of the liquid, murmuring as the tip drew out one intricate pattern after another. Finally, the wizard stepped back.

"I suspect the Horcrux is spelled to be impossible to move until the liquid is emptied." He eyed the suspicious liquid. "And drunk, I would guess; further weakening any who dares to intrude." He waved his wand once more, and a crystalline goblet dropped into his waiting hand.

Kakashi scowled—it seemed magic could be useful and dangerous in more ways than he'd imagined. "It's obviously poison," he said disdainfully, "There must be another way."

Dumbledore said nothing. Kakashi took the goblet from his hand and roughly thrust the mouth into the cauldron, drawing out an overflowing draught of the liquid. He tipped it to the floor, but stared at the cauldron with surprise when the level refilled.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Kakashi stood again, reaching into a different pouch. He pulled out a small, plastic bottle and dished out another mouthful of liquid into it. He shook the bottle at the wizard.

"I assume Pomfrey-san is capable of analyzing poisons?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Voldemort may have means of discovering when his safeguards are tampered with. It would be unwise to leave this be for very long."

"Do _you_ want to drink this?" Kakashi asked irritably, shaking the bottle again. "I'm a shinobi, Dumbledore-san. I am not going to deliberately poison myself. Leave a guard to notify you if anyone tries to enter the cave or Voldemort's followers arrive."

The Jounin tucked the vial away and frowned. "If he is going to respond, it will likely be within the next several hours. We can keep watch through then."

* * *

"Hermione!" Harry called out, winding his way through the crowded hall to catch up with the girl, who was no longer in his last period Divination class.

The witch paused and Harry caught her by the arm, tugging her quickly away from the crowds. He knew Savage was behind him, but paid the wizard no attention. He wasn't planning on saying anything sensitive to the girl, anyway.

"Harry?" Hermione asked bemusedly. "What is it? Is something wrong? Is it Kakashi?"

"Hermione, do you know about prophecies?" Harry asked without preamble.

The girl blinked, unable to answer right away for her surprise. "I… well, yes, I took Divination, same as you. But you would know more than me. Besides, I thought you didn't believe in that hogwash."

"I don't," Harry said, scowling, "At least… not that tealeaf stuff Trelawney-san uses in class. But…"

Hermione watched him silently, expression intent, and Harry found himself hesitating.

"Something happened," he said at last, glancing anxiously at Savage over his shoulder. The man shrugged.

Harry continued, "Trelawney-san… we were alone at the time, and… her voice seemed strange—she seemed ill. And when it was over, she didn't seem to remember anything."

The girl frowned, her lips pressed in a thin line. "I... _have_ read about things like that in our book," she admitted reluctantly, "It says when a witch Sees a vision, her entire countenance changes—like someone—or some_thing_—else is speaking through her. Harry, are you sure…? I mean, she wasn't just faking again?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, giving the girl a dry look.

She flushed a little. "Of course not. You wouldn't have brought it up if you weren't convinced that it was genuine. Well… it sounds like a real prophecy, doesn't it…? I suppose she couldn't have been complete rubbish for Professor Dumbledore to have hired her."

"How do you _know_ it's a real prophecy?" Harry pressed, "Does that mean it will definitely come true, no matter what anyone does to try to change it? I don't believe the future can be known already."

Savage cleared his throat—both teens looked back at him. "Prophecies are useful because they offer the opportunity to change something," he stated confidently, "I haven't heard many, and most of those were second and third hand, but prophecies usually include a setup of facts, so you'll recognize the situation when it arrives, and then a possibility of two or more outcomes. The choices of those involved determine which outcome will come true."

Harry frowned thoughtfully and nodded. What Trelawney had said to him certainly seemed to fit the pattern.

"It isn't as though the future is set in stone, at any rate," Hermione said. "Even if it was a proper prophecy… what happens depends on the choices people make."

Savage nodded his agreement. "In the Auror department, we think of them mostly as warnings."

Harry considered the possibility. Thinking of the witch's words as something like a warning rather than an inevitability was much more tolerable, but the unease he'd felt the moment of the encounter still hung with him. If it was a warning, some part of it would come true, and he couldn't accept any of it.

Shaking his head, the Genin decided he needed to clear his mind. He would think about it later, but now wasn't the time. His judgment was probably affected by the stress of his brother's injury, thoughts of his parents, and the lingering problem of being stuck where he was.

"Do you know where Sirius is?" Harry asked abruptly, "I think I'll take him up on his offer to test out my broom."

Savage grinned. "That's the new Firebolt, right? I think he was expecting an owl, so you might find him in the Owlery…"

"Brooms?" Hermione repeated with a frown.

"I kind of promised Sirius," Harry excused. "Thanks for the information, Hermione-san. I'll see you later."

The girl blinked, staring after the pair as they left her in the empty corridor. She looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings she had been dragged into.

"Now where am I?" Rolling her eyes, Hermione drew her wand. "Locas: Gryffindor Tower!"

With a brief flash of violet, the wand turned in her hand, exerting a gentle, steady pressure until she was pointing the correct direction. Muttering under her breath, Hermione headed out.

* * *

Harry was in Potions the next morning, halfway through adding Flitterbloom Root to his bubbling cauldron when the classroom door burst open. The entire class looked up and a sudden hush fell over everything as students all across the room froze to stare. There was a clatter from behind Harry as Neville Longbottom dropped his knife and Snape's face turned red with anger.

Kakashi casually strolled through the door, right arm hanging limply at his side, smiling and apparently oblivious to the scene he was creating.

"Professor Snape," the Jounin started with more politeness than Harry had heard him use around _any_ of the Hogwarts teachers, let alone the man he was convinced was a traitor and a spy. "I am here to withdraw Harii."

Snape's face twisted with a nasty scowl. "As you can see, Mr. Hatake, your brother is currently involved in his lessons. He is far enough behind without _you_ showing up to take him out of the few classes he chooses to attend to begin with."

The shinobi's cheerful expression didn't waver, his uncovered eye continuing to curve into the Jounin's approximation of a smile. "The Headmaster has requested to speak with him immediately."

Snape's expression darkened further. For a moment it seemed as though he might continue to argue, then angry eyes turned to the student. "Well?" He snarled, "What are you waiting for, Hatake? A gilded invitation? Go!"

Harry didn't grace the man with a response. He grabbed his books quickly and joined his brother without bothering to clean up his potion. Behind him, Savage vanished the half completed concoction before following. Harry wondered why he still attended the class at all and reminded himself that for a shinobi information was power, even if the source was insufferably irritating.

"You shouldn't antagonize Professor Snape like that," Savage said disapprovingly when he caught up.

"I don't care about my grade," Harry said coolly, "And he… _antagonizes_ _me_. He's lucky that I treat him civilly."

"As long as you're a student here, your professors deserve your respect, Harry," Savage insisted.

"Then let them expel me," Harry said dismissively. "Kakashi-niisan, where are we going?"

Savage, who was used to the two ninjas' seemingly infallible sense of direction, even in the ever-changing maze the castle had become, looked between them in surprise. "I thought we were going to see the Headmaster."

"I lied," Kakashi shrugged, shoving his left hand into his pocket. "Snape will probably be angry later, even though he should really be thankful that I didn't make a fool out of him in front of his students."

"So where are we going?" Harry pressed again.

"The forest," Kakashi said. He leveled a stern look at the Auror. "For training. You can't come past the edge of the trees—I'll kill you if you try to spy."

Savage frowned uneasily, "How long will it take?"

Kakashi shrugged, "We'll probably go back to the castle to sleep." He didn't allow the man to question further, immediately turning his attention to his brother.

"Harii," he said sharply, before taking off at a run. Harry, too interested to do anything else, hurried after him.

* * *

"Take a break," Kakashi said at last, and Harry collapsed gratefully to the ground, his arms aching and muscles throbbing as he struggled to catch his breath.

Kakashi stepped beside him, frowning down at the exhausted Geniin. "You should stretch or it will be worse later."

With a groan, Harry flopped onto his back. "Niisan… is all of this… really necessary?" He asked tiredly, moving his heavy limbs into a stretched position. They burned in protest.

For days he'd been doing nothing but physical training. Hard workouts that were particularly vicious on his arms. He hadn't been to any of his classes in days, and hadn't seen his classmates, either, as they always returned to the castle late enough that the other students were asleep.

Kakashi had refused to tell him what technique he wanted to teach him, too; only that…

"Your body still needs to be stronger to handle this jutsu," the Jounin said blandly. Harry was getting tired of hearing those words over and over again. "You haven't been spending enough time building your muscle since we came here."

Harry bristled. "I've been working out every day! Out here I can't keep up the kind of schedule as usual, though—especially with classes! You're the one who keeps wanting me to stay!"

Kakashi didn't respond, looking past the teen, instead. "Didn't Savage-san tell you we were busy?'

Harry looked up, then scrambled to his feet, wiping his sweaty face on his arm. "Sirius! What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you again before I left," the man said, eyes roving up and down the Genin's form. "You haven't been around the castle, so…"

"We've been busy," Kakashi interrupted coldly. "We're busy now. You've seen him—you can leave."

"Niisan!" Harry exclaimed indignantly. He shot his brother a glare before turning back to Sirius, rubbing the back of his head. His hair felt grimy under his fingers. "Sorry; it's fine, we're on a break. You're leaving again already?"

"I've got a job now," Sirius reminded him, "It's about time I get back to it. I'll come by to visit again." He hesitated, looking briefly at Kakashi and back at Harry. "You… could spend the summer at my place. If you're still around."

"We'll be back in Konoha by then," Kakashi said sharply.

"Maybe we can see you at the Ministry before we leave," Harry offered. They would need to have a Portkey made once they had the third coordinate.

"We need to get back to work, Harii," Kakashi interceded, fixing the younger boy with a stern glare.

"You mean _I_ need to get back to work," Harry grumbled, crossing his arms in a stretch in front of him. They tingled, but the soreness was already receding. He nodded reluctantly.

"Sorry, Sirius-san," he said, turning his attention back to the older man, "But we _are_ busy. And we can't get started until you leave."

The Auror eyed the pair suspiciously before releasing a sigh. "I'll leave you to it, then. Don't work yourself too hard, Harry." With a final, reluctant look, the man retreated from the clearing.


	22. Stage Three

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer - I don't own _Naruto_, _Harry Potter_, or the word 'repetitive', although I do feel it keenly.

Thank you for all of your reviews! I think it is impossible for me to catch up since I was gone for so long... but I will do better for this chapter. July is a fairly calm month for me (compared to every other month), so I hope to be able to put some more time into this... Although it might be impossible to finish by the end of the summer. I got a new laptop, so maybe that will help... Either way, the next chapter should be up by July 7th. Thanks for everyone's support, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 22 – Stage Three

Releasing his chakra, Harry felt a tingle of anticipation all up his right arm. He grit his teeth as the tingling intensified, buzzing up and down his arm. A burst of thin, blue-white energy appeared briefly, skirting around his hand before disappearing.

The buzzing began to burn mildly. White-blue energy exploded into existence around his hand in sporadic bursts.

"Kakashi…" he muttered, sweat beaded on his brow and forehead wrinkled in concentration. The burning was growing worse, with flares of pain like needles randomly lancing into his arm.

The burning was too much. White lightning flickered unpredictably around his arm. Curling his fingers into a fist, he slammed his hand into the ground, releasing the energy still flickering around his hand and letting his hold on his chakra run free. The energy dissipated, leaving the Genin feeling drained.

Harry slouched, shoulders drooping and head bowing. He was breathing heavily despite a fairly light workout that morning. The silence around him felt oppressive. Even the wildlife was quiet, and Kakashi wasn't saying anything. Only his own pants echoed in the air.

"I can't… do it," he said harshly, the fingers on his left hand curling into a fist to match the right. "I can't harness that much chakra at one time, niisan."

Kakashi remained silent.

Harry moved his right hand, looking it over. It was dotted with small, red burn stripes. Under the surface, his muscles ached as though he'd spent an entire day beating trees. When his brother continued to say nothing, Harry finally looked up. The Jounin's expression was bored, entirely unimpressed. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I tried!" He shouted. "Didn't you see me? I can't do it—they said there were some high level jutsu I just can't do!"

"It isn't that kind of jutsu," Kakashi said at last, tone blank. "I invented it when I was twelve, Harii, my chakra system might have been more developed than yours is, but they were nowhere near the level needed to perform many A and B ranked jutsu."

"It's true that Chidori takes a lot of chakra, but that's because it constantly feeds on your chakra as long as it is active," the Jounin added, "So the amount of time it needs to be active to successfully land a strike is usually enough to drain quite a bit of chakra. The drain itself is relatively slow compared to other high level jutsu, though. You should be able to handle it fine."

He crossed his arms and frowned down at the young teen. "We'll try it again tomorrow. Work on your chakra concentration as along as you can. Then you can run through this morning's PT again and go to class, if you want."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, rolling back to sit on the ground. "Where are you going?"

The man sighed, and his half-lidded eye flickered with annoyance. "Pomfrey-san has been studying. She found some new useless technique to try on my arm."

Harry smirked. "Ah. Have fun in the hospital, then, niisan."

Kakashi rolled his eyes. "You know how I love hospitals."

"You certainly spend enough time in them," Harry jibed, "If you ever get married, I bet it'll be in the intensive care ward."

"Do I need to double your PT?" Kakashi asked dryly, "If you have so much energy, it would be a shame to waste it."

Harry closed his eyes, smirk remaining fixed in place. "Sorry, Kakashi-niisan, I can't hear you—I'm too busy concentrating."

* * *

The Sakura blossoms were falling, marking the end of the school year at Konoha Ninja Academy, and the beginning of another just around the corner.

Naruto scowled as the other students rushed around him, running to find their parents and show off their grades for the year. His own folder had been crumpled and shoved in his pocket. Even if he'd had someone to show it to, he didn't think he would want to.

The year had started out decently enough—if he pretended he wasn't bothered by the way his teachers ignored him and sometimes sent him the same angry looks that were thrown his way on the street. But from the beginning, his classmates had been better at reading and writing and they'd progressed quickly under the teachers' attention, growing at a rate that seemed to leave _him_ standing still in comparison.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced up at the apartment on his right, now several blocks away from the Academy. His expression turned sullen and he stopped to look up at it, feeling the crumpled corners of his grade folder.

He wouldn't mind complaining to Harii about this gross misjudgment of his potential. The Genin was easy to talk to, and sympathetic without being patronizing. He still remembered the last time he'd seen the older boy, when they'd had lunch and Harii had let him complain about his teachers and the other students…

But Harii was gone. Naruto's expression darkened, eyes narrowing and lips turning down in a scowl.

It was like someone was _trying_ to make his life more and more miserable. The one friend that he had was taken away. Naruto suspected the old man knew where he was, but he always denied it when Naruto asked.

Still, it was unbearable to think that his best friend might have taken off and left on his own without even saying anything to him—which had been suggested a few times. That just wasn't Harii.

Naruto frowned. Now that he thought about it, Harii had that other friend who didn't believe that ridiculous idea, either. And he _owed_ him.

The boy took off at a run, dodging through bodies and ignoring the shouts that followed him from people he ran into. He burst through the doors of the tower and dashed around a Chuunin that made to grab for him.

Skidding to a stop, he pounded on the door of the Hokage's office.

"Hey, old man!" He shouted before quickly letting himself inside—because the group of ninja who made a point to try to keep him from doing anything was already closing in on him.

The Sandaime looked up with a frown, but his expression softened a little when his eyes landed on the small blond.

"Ah, Naruto," he looked past the boy to the annoyed shinobi hurrying after him.

"We're sorry, Hokage-sama," Minomi apologized with a brief bow, "He slipped past some of the guards—we'll removed him for you right away!"

"Hey!" Naruto yelped in protest, jumping back from the approaching ninja. "Leave me alone, you jerks!"

"It's alright," the Sandaime interjected loudly, breaking through the noisy protests of the six-year-old. "Naruto-kun is here on an appointment with me."

Several of the nearest shinobi flushed. The group apologized before leaving the two alone, although disapproving looks continued to linger on the Academy student. Naruto glared after them until the door was shut. Expression mellowing only a little, he turned to the Hokage, still frowning.

"Eh—I don't have an appointment, old man! What's this all about?" He demanded loudly.

The Sandaime smiled, each wrinkle falling into place. "Calm down, Naruto. I know we didn't have an appointment… but I thought it might go more smoothly for you if _they_ believed that you did."

A slow grin spread across the boy's cheeks. "I get it… that's really sneaky of you, old man! You're not so bad!"

The Sandaime chuckled. "Thank you, Naruto. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?" He glanced the boy over. "Class grades should have come out today—how did you place?"

A light blush colored the blond's cheeks and he looked down briefly, scuffing a shoe on the floor. "Okay," he muttered, then looked up, blue eyes bright and intense. "But that's not what I wanna talk about, old man! I want to know where that guy that's Harii-niisan's friend lives!"

The old man blinked, then frowned, considering briefly. "A friend of Hatake Harii? I believe he had several, Naruto."

The boy scowled. "Come on—you know! That guy with the scary eyes and the funny brown hair like this!" He motioned his fingers over his head, wiggling the tips in the air to emphasize his point.

The Hokage's eyes sparkled in amusement as he watched, and he smiled. "Ah… you must be referring to Tenzou-san."

"Yeah!" Naruto exclaimed, "I think that was his name! Well, where is he, old man? And don't say you don't know, 'cause I know you do! You know _everything_!"

"Hmm… and why the sudden interest in Tenzou-san, eh, Naruto?" The Sandaime asked, frowning intently down at the boy.

Naruto frowned back. "He owes me something. I just want him to do what he promised!"

"Okay, okay," the old man chuckled again. "I can't say I approve of one of my shinobi breaking a promise. Let's see—you've just finished your first year at the Academy… you know how to read maps, don't you?"

"Er…" Naruto's face scrunched up, "Kinda."

"Well, I'll help you, then," the Hokage replied, waving the boy over. "Come here and look at this."

Obediently, the six-year-old trotted over. "What? What is it? You've got a map back there?"

Nodding, the Sandaime pulled out a map and unrolled it in front of the boy. "This," he tapped on a large, circular outline on the paper, "Is where we are now. The Hoakge Tower."

Face scrunched with concentration until his eyes were only barely open, Naruto nodded. "Uh-huh."

"And you'll walk down this road here," the man's long-nailed finger moved across the paper. "That is, when you leave through the doors, this road will be on your left—towards Ichiraku's place."

"Oh! Yeah, I get it!" Naruto exclaimed enthusiastically.

Smiling, the Hokage continued his explanation, turning the boy's attention down to a second road intersecting the first further down.

* * *

Harry completed the last seal, mouth grim and eyebrows lowered in concentration. Every muscle was tense as he directed his chakra to his arm. A few errant lines of white lightning snaked up his arm, and his skin tingled in their wake.

Suddenly, a blaze of white flared to life in his palm—an erratic ball of energy that was constantly writhing with a high-pitched chirp.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "I…"

As abruptly as it had appeared, the energy disappeared with a particularly high-pitched whine. Harry cringed as the warm glow on his skin simultaneously flared with intense heat. Quickly, he released the chakra and cut off his flow, allowing the technique to die.

He glanced up to his brother, only to find the man scowling at him. "You alright?"

Harry nodded, "I—"

The Jounin's fist hit his face even before he realized he was moving. Harry fell hard against the ground and raised a hand to his throbbing chin as he pushed himself to his feet and located his brother out of habit, heart beating quickly in anticipation of a fight.

"Niisan?" He croaked in confusion, sending spikes of pain through his jaw.

"Idiot," Kakashi growled, "Are you trying to get yourself killed? Even if it isn't as difficult as most, it's still an A-Ranked assassination technique—you can't fool around while you're using it!"

Harry cringed. "Sorry," he muttered, moving his jaw as little as the words would allow, "I was surprised."

"That's a rookie mistake, Harii," the man said irritably, "Are you really a Hatake?"

Harry bristled, shooting his brother a glare. "I suppose you were never surprised by anything? You probably made stupid mistakes when you were a Genin, too!"

"I was _five_," Kakashi snapped back, "And I still knew better than to allow my thoughts to wander while I was learning a new technique—you should, too."

"I do!" Harry shouted, "It's not like I did it on purpose!"

The two Hatake glared at each other in silence for a long minute. Finally, the older boy sighed, his expression smoothing.

"Let me see your arm," he demanded softly, crouching down in front of the teen, who was still sitting on the ground.

Harry frowned at him suspiciously, but reluctantly held out his right arm. His hand ached, and when Kakashi took it, he could tell that it was already red from the abuse.

The Jounin examined it gently, but his touch still sent painful signals coursing down Harry's arm. The man sighed again.

"This'll take a few days to heal, at least," he muttered, "You'll have to skip training the Chidori until then."

Harry stared at his swollen hand. "I _was_ concentrating… I guess I just didn't think it would work. I don't think I did anything different from all the other times…"

Kakashi glanced up at him, and for a moment their eyes met. The man stood. "Well, you must have done something differently. You can spend your recovery time trying to remember what it was." He hesitated, then held out his hand.

Harry glanced at it in surprise for a moment before grabbing it—his brother hauled him to his feet and they stood in an awkward silence for a moment longer.

"Finish up with your training for the day," Kakashi directed at last, "But don't do anything to aggravate your right arm."

He turned to leave.

"I… didn't get it on the first try, either."

Harry looked across at him in surprise, but his brother was already gone.

* * *

"Tenzou-san!" Naruto shouted, banging hard on the door. "Tenzou-niisan!"

Finally, he heard the sound of a lock being drawn. He stepped back expectantly, ready to start shouting again if the approach turned out to be a false alarm. Luckily, he didn't need to resort to further demonstrations—the door opened a moment later.

The teen was mostly as he remembered him; long-limbed and lanky and with oddly styled brown hair. But his face looked thinner and more tired, and his scary brown eyes held a mixture of annoyance and hostility. Naruto hesitated—the teen hadn't seemed to dislike him during their last encounter, but he suddenly wasn't so sure.

Unexpectedly, the young man's expression relaxed a little, his eyes losing the mean edge as they lingered on the small blond.

"Naruto-kun," he murmured with mild surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh… um… I…" Naruto faltered, unprepared for the almost-friendly greeting and forward question. He shook his head to clear it and frowned intensely up at the teen. "You promised you'd teach me how to pick locks like you did at Harii-niisan's house!" He accused blithely, pointing up at the shinobi accusingly.

Tenzou blinked don at him, expression blank. He frowned, "I didn't exactly…" The teens words faltered as his eyes met with the intense blue. He sighed, although the corners of his lips tilted slightly with a smile, "Alright… Naruto." He opened the door further.

Naruto eyed the action uncertainly, glancing from Tenzou to the cramped apartment opened to his eyes.

Raising an eyebrow, Tenzou added, "Come on in. I have to change first. I thought you might be… someone else earlier, so I didn't bother when you knocked."

Naruto looked at the older boy again as he entered. The black pants and tight gray shirt didn't look like anything special to him, and he didn't see why the teen didn't just keep them on. He shrugged and cautiously stepped through the doorway.

There was a tiny kitchenette in the small living area, with a single, short-legged table as the only furniture, cluttered with papers and scrolls. A single sliding door was at the back of the room, and on the side nearest Naruto was a large window—the only light shining through was tinted green from the large potted plants crowded in front.

"Sit down, if you want," Tenzou said, motioning towards the table—Naruto moved closer and noticed the pair of pillows on the floor on the other side. "I'll be back in a moment."

Making a noise of agreement, Naruto wandered across to look at the plants. They certainly didn't look like ordinary house plants—not any he'd seen before, at least. They looked more like something that might be found in one of the forests around the village.

One had a twisted sort of trunk, the small branches breaking off were clustered with pale green leaves. Another, the tallest, had long, thin, winding branches and wide, dark leaves. It had grown to fold across the ceiling, making that side of the room look almost jungle-like. The third was made of large, orange shoots of leaves, with a kind of mossy green underneath.

He was still scrutinizing the plants when Tenzou arrived.

"Ready for your lesson?" He asked with a casual smile.

"Yeah!" Naruto exclaimed excitedly, turning away from the plants.

He couldn't learn about being a shinobi at school—but learning from _real_ ninja was way better, anyway, and he was determined to learn everything the older boy would teach him. After all, he had a long way to go if he wanted to become a Genin like Harii-niisan.

"The apartment below is empty right now," Tenzou said, ushering the boy out his front door, "We'll start with that one—the lock's particularly easy to jimmy."

* * *

Kakashi watched blankly as the witch waved her wand in another complicated pattern before lowering the stick with a whoosh of exhausted breath. She wiped a sleeve across her sweaty forehead and handed him a bronze glass with the other.

The Jounin gave the potion inside a distrustful look. The sparkling, light blue liquid didn't look any more appetizing than the other potions he had choked down in the last two months, and he couldn't help but wonder if it would do as little good.

"Is this more likely to help than the other procedures, Pomfrey-san?" He questioned dryly.

It wasn't that no progress had been made—a few weeks ago his fingers had begun tingling with sensation, and his palm had twitched against the edge of his knife just yesterday. Still, the 'treatments' he had undergone so far left much to be desired in hastening his recovery.

"This is a more radical treatment," the witch responded, "I would have liked to get it started earlier on, but one of the ingredients only recently became available. The first potion will identify dead matter in your body." She motioned to the glass he held. "A second," she lifted a vial and gave it a small shake—the black liquid inside sloshed sluggishly, "Will destroy that matter. And a third," she lifted a second vial filled with a rusty red substance that reminded the Jounin of blood, "Will regrow that matter."

"It will be a long and painful process," the witch continued, "But as long as the potions are administered at the precise times, it should bring about complete success. Your arm ought to be as good as new before too long."

Kakashi frowned, "And if the potions are not administered at the precise times?"

The woman hesitated. "It's unlikely. But there's a slight chance that your arm will be unable to heal further if this does not work. Still, even if the process is not completed successfully, there are treatments St. Mungo's can offer that should help. Your arm may not return to the same level of performance as the other, but it should be markedly improved all the same."

Kakashi's expression didn't waver. "How small a chance? And how quickly will I heal if it does work?"

"… If the potions are administered incorrectly, which isn't likely in and of itself, then there's a twenty-six percent chance that your arm will not respond to future treatment," the witch replied, "However, if the treatment works… the case-studies suggest your arm will be fully healed within three weeks. You will need to drink the first potion now, the second in three hours, and the third exactly thirty-three minutes after that."

She pinned him with a stern look, "I will, of course, need to confine you to bed for at least forty-eight hours following the procedure."

Kakashi frowned. "Why didn't you suggest this method earlier if it works so well?"

"It takes a little over a month to brew the second potion," Madam Pomfrey explained, "And, like I said earlier, one of the main ingredients wasn't immediately available. St. Mungo's had none of the potion in stock, and Severus only finished this batch earlier today."

Kakashi's eyes narrowed, "_Snape_ made it?"

The witch's eyes narrowed in response. "Now, Mr. Hatake, I know you and he don't get along"—Kakashi snorted—"but he takes his job very seriously and would never do anything to sabotage my medicine!"

"… It is a challenging potion to make?" Kakashi asked guardedly.

"Very difficult," Madam Pomfrey affirmed, "And quite unusual. But Severus is more capable than any Potions Master I know of. I wouldn't trust anyone else with a job like this."

Kakashi was silent for a long moment. Finally, he nodded, "… I'll take it, then."

Snape was a man who thrived on challenge—it showed through his choice to work as a spy; or a double agent, as the case may be. Either way, Kakashi found it unlikely that he would botch one of his only chances of making such a challenging potion just to handicap him a little. The man was vindictive, but Kakashi had watched him in his lab more than once, and he seemed to hold the value of brewing a good potion above anything else.

And if he didn't, the way things were going it would be years before he could use his arm again.

Without waiting for a reply, he gulped down the potion in his hand.

The blue liquid felt icy as it coursed down his throat, and Kakashi closed his eyes, grimacing as the feeling of ice-cold needles prodding him from the inside followed an instant behind it. He waited for his body temperature to warm the liquid—it didn't. The feeling didn't fade. Instead, it began to feel even more poignant—colder—and the core of the icy sensation very slowly began to expand inside of him.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see Madam Pomfrey's worried face hovering over him.

"Mr. Hatake?" She asked with concern. Vaguely, Kakashi realized there were numbers floating in the air over his head—_175_. Even as he watched, the last digit ticked down to a four. "Are you alright? How do you feel?"

"Fine," Kakashi gritted out, despite being far from it.

"You should lay back," the witch said, guiding him gently with a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

Kakashi let himself be pushed back, but the horizontal orientation didn't do as much to ease his discomfort as he had hoped. Closing his eyes again, he tried to push the pain from his mind. If he could sleep through the experience, it was sure to be less miserable.

He wasn't used to being cold—Konoha had a warm climate all year round—the winter at Hogwarts had been one of the most uncomfortable of his life. But at least he'd been able to throw on heavy cloaks to insulate himself from the subfreezing temperatures. There was nothing that could insulate him from the cold growing inside of his very being.

On the far end of the infirmary the door burst open. Probably another student with some self-inflicted magical malady, Kakashi guessed. He wouldn't mind never seeing another human coughing up eggs, so he ignored the intrusion.

A low murmuring gradually grew louder until Madam Pomfrey's affronted words brought him out of his meditative state. "Mr. Hatake is in no condition to go _anywhere_ with you! I don't care if you _are_ the Headmaster, he is _my_ patient and he is in the middle of a dangerous, time-sensitive procedure at the moment!"

Reluctantly, Kakashi pried his eyes open again. The icy fingers inside of him were probing through his lungs and chest, and reaching down to the top of his hip bone. Still, he bore it with a silent grimace and pushed himself upright as his eyes landed on the elderly wizard at his bedside.

"What is it?" He asked sharply—the words came out in a breathless gasp.

Dumbledore's face was grim as he replied, "I'm afraid Mr. Hudson has failed to report in."

Kakashi instantly became more alert. He pushed himself upright with his good arm. "The man you left at the cave? How late is he?"

The wizard took a moment to pull out an ornate, silver pocket watch about the size of Kakashi's fist. "Thirteen minutes past. It's possible he has merely been delayed by something, however…"

"There's nothing to distract a man in a cave," Kakashi interceded grimly. Hudson and the others Dumbledore had chosen were known to be both reliable and timely so that this sort of warning would reach them as soon as possible. "We should head out immediately. If we hurry, we might still make it in time."

"Mr. Hatake!" Madam Pomfrey interrupted angrily, "You are in no condition to travel! Do I need to remind you of the consequences of interrupting this process early?"

"It should be fine as long as we're back before the time is up, correct?" Kakashi prompted, glancing again at the numbers floating above his head.

"… Yes," the witch said reluctantly, "But--!"

"Then we'll need to make this quick," Kakashi said, turning to Dumbledore, "We need to be ready to return in two hours. You can leave now, I assume."

"Yes, of course," the old man said, "As you say, we must hurry."

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Kakashi stood, only to nearly collapse as the painful sensation of needles amplified with a vengeance. By now, the icy sensation had spread down his left hip, and it protested violently when his weight pushed down on it.

His breath caught in a gasp and his working hand clutched at the wall for support, clinging to it as he waited desperately for the moment to pass—for the pain to settle into the fuzzy recesses of his mind.

Instead, the pain only became more intense, slowly spreading into his thigh and across to his other leg, as well.

"Mr. Hatake!" It took three repetitions of his name before he recognized Madam Pomfrey's worried voice. He forced open his eye, unsure of when he had closed it, and stared into the two anxious faces.

"Are you well, Kakashi?" Dumbledore asked, voice deep with concern.

"I told you, Albus, he can't be moved!" Madam Pomfrey inserted angrily, "He may have a high tolerance for pain, but no one could be expected to operate in these conditions! Let the poor boy be!"

"Kakashi?" Dumbledore prompted again, ignoring the witch's interruption with practiced calm.

The Jounin waited a moment longer, carefully assessing his condition. He could run on a broken leg—once he'd splinted it to the best of his ability—if absolutely necessary, but this was a pain he'd never been forced to endure before. It was even colder than his trip to snow country, and there wasn't the pitiful comfort of warm campfires to relieve him.

Reluctantly, he nodded. "I won't be able to travel very fast like this… and if I understand the potion right, it will only get worse. I'll be less than useless if you take me with you."

Madam Pomfrey nodded solemnly, "You had best return to bed, Mr. Hatake. You're in no condition to travel in the first place."

Kakashi glanced over Dumbledore's concerned face. "Take Harii," he offered, "I've taught him my technique, and he knows others that may be useful against Voldemort's troops." He could also be relatively sure of his brother's safety, since Dumbledore desperately wanted to use the boy for his war. "You should go quickly. Harii will be training near the edge of the forest—if you wait too long, he'll be too tired to help."

"I see," the old wizard said slowly, hesitating a moment longer. "Thank you… I will find him now."

Kakashi nodded, and eased himself back to the bed as the wizard turned to leave. He looked at the numbers again—_158_.

* * *

Harry eyed his target grimly, breathing heavily from the exercise he'd just finished. The stone face, untouched but for a bit of charring on the tan, sandy face, had become something of a taunt; boldly displaying the evidence of each of his failures—or, rather, the lack of damage from success.

The Genin scowled. He _had_ managed to get the full blown Chidori to appear a few days ago, but he'd been so surprised that he had lost control almost immediately. He hadn't been able to practice again since; his arm had needed those days to recover.

If he could recreate it now, though, he could finally punch through the mocking face of stone.

Harry wasn't entirely confident that he _could_ recreate the technique. He had spent every waking moment—and restless nights—trying to figure out what he'd done that had finally made it work. He had yet to come up with a thing.

His breath left him in a whoosh and he set his expression; narrowed eyes focusing in on his target. He needed to concentrate. He couldn't afford to think of failure. Half of the challenge was having the confidence that he could do it. And he could—he _had_.

Taking one final breath, he began to move through the seals at a deliberate pace—quick, but not rushed. Just slow enough that he could be absolutely sure not to make any mistakes.

"Harry!"

The Genin froze, only two seals away from completing the technique.

"Harry!" The call repeated, louder—closer.

Grudgingly, Harry allowed his concentrated pool of chakra to return to his body—dissipating what couldn't be assimilated by his system again, being too far committed into the technique. Lowering his hands, he turned to glower at the figure working its way through the forest.

"Just ahead now," was Savage's voice, but the first person Harry saw wasn't Savage—it was Albus Dumbledore, followed a moment later by his 'bodyguard.'

The Headmaster smiled, but his eyes seemed unusually serious. "Ah, Harry, good. I have just come from speaking with your brother, and we have decided that you shall accompany me to retrieve the third Horcrux, as he is indisposed at the moment."

Harry frowned. "I'm training."

"Yes, Kakashi said as much," Dumbledore replied calmly, "But I'm afraid that it is a matter of much importance. You see, Voldemort may be removing the Horcrux we found even as we speak."

Harry hesitated a moment longer. For all he knew, Dumbledore hadn't even spoken with his brother. Then again, in a situation like this, the Jounin would be much more valuable than him. And it seemed that time was of the essence here—he didn't have the option of contacting Kakashi to confirm if Dumbledore's words were true.

And if they weren't, what was the point?

At last, he nodded. "Okay, let's go."

The old wizard looked relieved. "Come, then. A little further into the forest the anti-apparition field ends."

Pushing on through the underbrush, Dumbledore moved past Harry and his training grounds. Harry glanced at Savage—the Auror's face was a grim mask, eyes blank—and joined him in following after the elder wizard.

* * *

The first thing Harry noticed when his wobbly legs were planted on solid ground once more, was the smell of smoke. It was thick in the air, and even through the fabric of his mask he could make out the pungent odor. In front of them was an empty cliff—dark, choppy waters stretching on below it—and a pale, late afternoon sky over top.

Wafts of gray smoke were just beginning to cloud the sky almost directly overhead. Harry turned, and his eyes widened.

And entire town was ablaze. Large pillars of flame reached towards the sky, overshadowed by a thick, black smoke that turned gray as it climbed through the atmosphere. Even from where he stood, several kilometers away, Harry could feel the dry heat sucking the life out of the air around him.

His knees felt a little weak and his heart hammered in his chest. Rushing back to him was a confused jumble of images that were all he recalled from the aftermath of the fire that had killed the Dursleys—the burnt out shells of houses that had stretched all around him, evidence of the reach of the flames that had changed his life forever.

It must have looked just like this, while he was balled up, trapped in his little cupboard.

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Savage, and a distressed murmur from Dumbledore on his other side.

"… Did Voldemort do this?" Harry asked softly—he was pleased that his voice remained even.

"Most likely," Dumbledore replied somberly, "We will know for certain once the smoke clears. Voldemort and his followers always leave their mark in the sky."

"… A snake in a skull," Harry said, a flash of the image over his neighborhood surfacing in his mind. He'd forgotten.

Dumbledore glanced at him intently. "Correct." He looked back at the town. "Sadly, there is nothing we can do for them now, and more pressing concerns are in our hands. Mr. Savage, if you would, pop in to the Ministry and make sure they have someone on their way immediately. Harry, come with me."

He didn't wait for their replies, instead moving away from the sight, towards the edge of the cliff, which he followed along closely. Harry stared a moment longer, wishing he could offer his help. He knew a few Suiton Jutsu that might be helpful… Between the three of them, they might even be able to save lives.

Reluctantly, the Genin turned his back on the town and hurried after Dumbledore. As much as he didn't want to let anyone else burn to death—the screams of his uncle, aunt, and cousin still echoed in his mind—Dumbledore was right. They had bigger things to worry about. If Voldemort got away with the Horcrux, all these people would have suffered and died in vain.

The wizard stopped at the edge of the cliff a little further on and Harry drew even with him. The older man's hand pointed and Harry squinted at the shadow he could make out on the rock face across from them—the cave his brother had told him about, presumably.

Harry nodded. "Let's go." The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they would be able to see to the town's safety.

Without waiting for a reply, Harry took a step forward and leapt off the edge of the cliff. Wind whipped around him, cold and unforgiving, then he hit water. It soaked through his clothes almost immediately, an icy shock against his skin, but Harry kicked for the surface, taking a deep breath when his head broke free of the waves.

He glided through the water quickly. Normally, he preferred to run, it would have been warmer, at least, but with the water in such turmoil, that wasn't an option.

He arrived at the opposite rock face within a few minutes and located the cave, a meter or so above him. Glancing back, he took a moment to locate Dumbledore—the old man was moving relatively quickly, his long arms pushing him closer at a steady rate.

Harry reached up for the rock and pulled himself out of the frigid water, shaking a shower of drops from his limp hair before climbing.

Pulling himself safely over the edge, Harry stepped forward and glanced around, his eyes taking a few seconds to begin adjusting to the cave's darkness.

In the shadows near the back was a pile of rocks, haphazardly stacked in a heap against the wall, all shapes and sizes. The other walls appeared smooth in comparison.

A flash of light near the rock pile was plenty of warning.

Harry's eyes widened in alarm as he dove to the side, catching himself against the wall and turning to face his attacker, kunai in hand. It was dark, but he'd been a Genin long enough to know that a man could be tracked with more than sight.

The soft shuffling of dirt and stone could have been a rat, but Harry doubted it. He threw three kunai at once—the small black knives whistled softly as they flew through the air.

A scream announced that at least one had struck its intended target. He could just make out a pale face on the other side of the cave when another pair of shouts alerted him that his primary target was not alone.

Jumping out of the way of the jets of light accompanying curses, Harry caught the ceiling and threw a handful of shuriken in the general direction of his assailants. They clattered against the stone and Harry moved quickly to prevent the miss from giving him away.

He landed near the pile of rocks without a sound, listening carefully. If it had been silent, he might have been able to hear someone breathing, but the crashing of nearby waves prevented it. He though he heard further scuffing of shoes on stone, but he wasn't quick enough to pinpoint the source.

Then, suddenly, he backed into something—some_one_. There was a shout of alarm and Harry's heart beat hard with a fresh burst of adrenaline. He reached forward, able to make out the vague impression of a body and limbs, and managed to catch the man's arm. His attacker was strong, but Harry had been working hard the past month. He was stronger.

Harry twisted the man's arm until he released his wand with a scream of pain.

A shout from the other side preceded another flash of light, and Harry shoved his prisoner roughly between him and the flash, using the wall to increase his own leverage. The man didn't even have a chance to try to fight the movement, caught completely off-guard. He hit the ground with a muffled thud a moment later.

Harry ducked behind a larger part of the rock pile and waited as a few more flashes of light lit the cave before dying down again.

"Harry?" The voice issued from the mouth of the cave and Harry's eyes widened incredulously. His eyes snapped to the mouth, where Dumbledore's rising figure was clearly visible against the pale blue sky.

"Get down!" Harry shouted, rising from his own hiding place, but the ambusher had already seen him and a red light was flashing towards the hapless old man.

Harry's gut turned cold. He was too far away to do anything. H didn't particularly _like_ the old wizard that had dragged them into all of this, but he didn't want to watch him be killed, either. Especially not while they were on a mission together—and the old man was his ride back to Hogwarts.

With a calm sort of ferocity on his shadowed face, the headmaster flicked his wand up and the curse crashed into the side of the cave away from him with a small explosion of rock. Instantly, a flash of light from the wizard's own wand was flying, and Harry could make out the figure of their robed attacker as the light hit his chest. He grunted and impacted the wall with a solid _thump_.

"Harry?" Dumlbedore called out again, his voice more cautious and his wand held outright.

"I think that's all of them," Harry supplied, stepping away from the rocks with a kunai drawn—just in case.

With a small swish, the Headmaster's wand was suddenly projecting a bright white light onto the floor of the cave. Harry watched carefully as it traced through the cavern, lingering on each of the men as it landed on them. Dumbledore approached the nearest—the second that Harry had taken out.

He bent over the still form, lying face down without so much as a twitch. He looked dead. The wizard reached out, gently touching the man's neck. Searching for a pulse, Harry realized an instant later.

"… He's still alive," Dumbledore murmured, "What happened?"

Harry bristled. "They ambushed me! I got one of them with a kunai, back there," he motioned towards the rocks, "This one was hit by his own side, though, so you can't blame me for whatever's wrong with him. Besides, it would be better if they _did_ die—Voldemort won't be able to use them against us again, then."

"It wasn't my intention to blame you for anything," Dumbledore replied calmly, "Except perhaps, for putting out an excellent effort under pressure. Unfortunately, casualties cannot be avoided in war, and while I must admit the idea does not appeal to me, I am under no delusion that if you remain to fight with us, sooner or later you will kill."

Snorting, Harry glanced around the cave again. "So… where's this hidden door Kakashi-niisan was talking about?"

Dumbledore stood, casting his light over the heap of rubble. "Until earlier today, I believe, it was right over there."

Harry cursed and ran over to the slide of rocks, testing the density of stone with his fist. "So I guess Voldemort's gotten out already. He has probably taken the Horcrux with him—it'll be pointless to waste the time to move all of this."

"Most likely," the old wizard agreed, "It's unlikely that he would bury it where even he could no longer reach it. Still, I will send some people down to excavate."

"What should we do with these guys?" Harry asked, nodding his head towards the three men—one was still groaning softly a little ways away.

"I will inform the Aurors of their whereabouts," Dumbledore said, "First, we need to get back up there and ensure Mr. Savage has found the help we needed."

Harry frowned skeptically at the old man, "Can you handle a climb like that?"

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "My dear boy, please don't forget that we are wizards. I was thinking of skipping the climb up. Apparition is particularly dangerous when your target is the closed space of a small cave, but it should be fine going the other way. Would you care for a lift?" He offered his arm.

Harry grimaced. It wouldn't take long for _him_ to reach the top, but Dumbledore's way would definitely be quicker, and every instant they wasted could mean the difference between life and death for anyone still alive in the burning town.

He grabbed the man's arm and an instant later was experiencing the uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed through a very narrow pipe very quickly.

* * *

Kakashi stared blankly at the arching, white ceiling of the hospital wing. His entire body tingled. His muscles ached. The counter floating above his head was down to the single digits.

The worst of the icy needles had passed a few minutes earlier, and ever since things had become easier. The cushion under his back didn't feel like fire against his cold skin. The movement of his own lungs no longer drove the needles of ice deeper into his organs.

And in—Kakashi glanced at the numbers with some trepidation—eighty-six seconds, an even more torturous process would begin. He couldn't imagine the destruction of his arm being any less painful than the scan over his body, and he refused to hope for any better.

"How do you feel, Kakashi?" Madam Pomfrey asked gently, walking to his bedside with the second potion in her hand. She waved her wand and a list of numbers and statistics popped into existence to his left.

"Better than I'll be feeling in"—Kakashi glanced at the numbers now ticking down the seconds until he needed the next potion—"Forty-four seconds, I'm sure."

The witch's smile was sympathetic. "This stage shouldn't be as bad as the last… your body will be somewhat numbed from the first potion, so the breaking down of the matter in your arm shouldn't be too painful. I can give you something for it if you like."

Kakashi shook his head. Twenty-six seconds left.

"Alright, then, your vitals appear stable," the woman said, and held out the glass.

Kakashi forced himself upright and grabbed the cup, glancing up at the numbers again. Ten seconds.

He glanced down at the unpalatable black liquid that resembled nothing more than a hot batch of liquid tar. He allowed his mind to briefly entertain the idea that it might be poisoned.

One second.

He tipped his head back and opened his throat, nearly gagging on the foul tasting sludge twice before the last of it had coursed down his throat.

Madam Pomfrey took the glass from his hand before he could drop it. Kakashi fell back against his bed, coughing, nose wrinkled in disgust. A bitter taste coated his tongue thickly, unmoving despite the coughs.

And then the first spike of pain hit his arm. Kakashi clenched his eyes shut and breathed sharply through his nose. It didn't feel so different from a chakra scalpel—which he had the unfortunate pleasure of experiencing once. The invasive sensation was on an extremely small scale, precisely slicing through, removing, what might have been only a single cell.

Then it came again—and then it really started.

* * *

It wasn't until thirty minutes later, when the potion was making its final pass through his system, that Kakashi realized something was not right. He could hear thunder—only it wasn't raining—and shouting.

Hazily, his eye cracked open, taking its time to focus on the room around him. He pushed the echoes of pain from his mind and looked about more fully. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be found, unusual since she liked to be near her patients at all times, and even more so since he had to be due for his next potion soon.

Another clap of thunder drew his eye to the window to confirm again what he'd thought before. It _wasn't_ raining. It wasn't even cloudy. Which meant it wasn't thunder.

He glanced up at the counter, still hovering over his head. Barely a minute until he was due to take the third potion.

With an effort, he pushed himself upright—his right side felt strangely light and when he glanced at his arm he wished that he hadn't.

The shriveled, purple-blue limb that was attached to his shoulder couldn't possibly be his, but he could feel the small spikes of pain still coursing up and down its length. He tore his eye away quickly—it landed on the small table beside his bed. The third potion—a rusty, orange-red—was waiting in a glass next to him.

Lurching out of bed, Kakashi grabbed the glass, and stumbled slightly, his sense of balance skewed by the aching in his head as much as the mutation of his arm. He compensated carefully and continued his movement, stumbling towards the window a short distance away.

Looking out, he wished that he hadn't.

Far below him small figures were exchanging blows in a spectacular show of light. He could make out a few figures scattered about nearest to the castle—presumably the professors—but there were many more moving up the hill, a double row of black dots.

Thunder struck again when a collection of red beams of light hit the castle doors. The others continued to fire upon the cowering professors, who were doing what they could to hold them back while avoiding unfriendly fire.

Kakashi glanced up just in time to see his last second tick away.

There wasn't anything he could do about an attack on Hogwarts' grounds, anyway, he mused, and downed the potion in one gulp.

This time, Madam Pomfrey wasn't beside him to catch the glass.


	23. Dangerous Enemies

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Naruto. (But I'm really excited to hear about the "Kakashi Chronicles" being animated!)

Editing always takes longer than I think it will, very sorry. I still didn't get this chapter to turn out quite to the point that I was completely happy with it... but I'll let you tell me how you think it turned out. It's late, so I'll see to replying to your reviews (those with questions at least) tomorrow. Figured you'd rather I put this up tonight. Anyway, I'm aiming for July 21 to post chapter 24. As always, I hope you enjoy it, and I look forward to hearing what you think!

Update: a few spelling errors fixed, thanks to the people who pointed them out. Thanks to Blume for pointing out a slightly embarrassing crossing of canons...

Chapter 23 – Dangerous Enemies

The smoke was black and heavy in the air, the sky darkening with twilight. Violent orange flames were still raging wild. Small figures moved in front of the fire and shouts echoed over the sounds of splintering stone and popping wood. A large plume of smoke exploded a little to the East as the flames spluttered under a barrage of liquid.

"Ah, good, the Ministry is unusually prompt today," Dumbledore commented amiably.

Harry shot the wizard an irritated look. "You don't have to sound so happy when peoples' homes are being burnt to the ground. We should help them."

"On the contrary," Dumbledore said mildly, "I am pleased to know that they will not be burning for much longer. Come, I see Rufus now; we will see what he has to say about this."

Harry squinted at the silhouettes of the men between them and the fire—black masses that all looked alike. He didn't know how Dumbledore could recognize any of them, and accompanied the man with a dubious frown.

"Rufus Scrimgeour," Dumbledore explained as they walked, "Is the head of the Auror Office. It's lucky he was in, he has a way of moving things forward that few men ever achieve."

As they approached the burning town, one of the figures broke off from the others, jogging up towards them. Squinting through the dry air, Harry managed to make out his face before he reached them.

"How did it go?" Savage asked, glancing from Harry to Dumbledore.

"Not as badly as it might have," Dumbledore replied gravely, "I must speak with Rufus before we leave, however."

Harry shot the man another irritated look. "And so that we can find out if he needs any help."

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed placatingly.

Savage nodded and started moving away from them again, leading the way. "He's right down here."

The volume of the noise only grew as they moved away from the cliff. Harry never knew that a fire could be so loud—the sound of the deteriorating wood and the flames rushing through the air was enough to grind on his nerves. The shouting became more intelligible, and Harry realized most of the shouts were coming from a man a little ahead of the others.

"—Again!" The man was shouting as they tromped down towards him, dry, sooty air irritating their lungs. "Hold your wands steady, boys! On my mark—now!"

Water gushed from the wands in almost perfect tandem; jets of liquid that pummeled back the flames with gouts of steam and writhing smoke.

The man must have noticed them because with a few shouted orders to the group, he strode swiftly up to meet them, limping a little. He glanced at Harry first and then nodded to Dumbledore. The light of the fire glared off the glass in his wire-rimmed spectacles, but his face was overshadowed by the fire behind him; long, thick curls of hair appeared almost orange as they were lit up by the dancing flames from behind.

"How does it look, Rufus?" Dumbledore shouted over the roar of the fire.

"Not good," the man said grimly, pulling out a filthy handkerchief to wipe his forehead. "We're dealing with dark magic here, Dumbledore."

"Three—two—one—now!" The Aurors loosed another bout of water on the flames, beating them back just a little further.

"Of course, we'll get it in the end," Rufus assured them, turning back. "What I don't understand is why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would bother with a town like this in the first place. As far as our records go, there weren't even any wizards living here, so why go out of his way to have the place razed?"

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment—another bout of water from the Aurors seemed to be pushing the flames further back, but the progress remained slow.

"I believe Voldemort was searching for something," the elderly wizard finally replied. "In fact, as we were searching for the answer to just that question, Harry and I came across a pocket of Death Eaters in a cave North of here," he nodded towards the cliffs behind them.

"A cave?" Rufus repeated incredulously, "What the bloody hell does he want with a cave?"

"Yes, it is a mystery to me, as well," Dumbledore replied—Harry frowned. "Perhaps those men will provide our answer."

Rufus nodded. "I'll send someone down right away," he looked to the Auror beside him, "Savage—get Bawdy and Grunk."

With a nod of acknowledgement, the man retreated back down to the others.

"Do you want us to help?" Harry asked, since Dumbledore didn't seem to be getting around to it anytime soon.

Rufus' sharp blue eyes slid to land on Harry again. He ignored the question. "You must be the infamous Harry Potter," he said, only to quickly amend, "Sorry, Hatake. I've heard a lot about you, Harry, but this is the first time we've met. I am Rufus—"

"Scimgeour-san," Harry finished for him, irritably, "I asked if you need help putting out the fire—Dumbledore and I can help."

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary," Rufus said quickly, "As you can see, we're forcing it back, already. By morning everything will be under control."

Harry scowled, "By morning, everyone inside will be dead."

The Auror raised a sculptured eyebrow, "With the intensity of this heat and the smoke, it's unlikely that anyone has survived until now. If they were wizards, it would be another matter, but muggles…" He shook his head, looking baleful.

Harry shook his head in frustration. "So you're just going to leave them burning? Just accept our help!"

"Harry," Dumbledore interceded, placing a hand on the teen's shoulder. "If Mr. Scrimgeour says the situation is under control, then I'm sure that it is. Two more wands wouldn't do much to expedite the process, at any rate. The best thing to do now would return to the castle and—"

Harry jerked out of his hold, "And what? Do you have some pressing paperwork that's more important than providing the dead with decent burials?"

There was nothing particularly wrong with incinerating bodies, but there were certain rites that ought to be performed during the process—rites that would never be performed if the victims bones were turned to unidentifiable ash. Harry didn't consider himself religious, but it was more about respect. Even civilians deserved to be shown respect postmortem, and these more so than most, considering how they were killed.

The elder wizard was silent for a long moment, a thoughtful frown on his lips as he studied the boy. At last, he spoke. "No, of course not. If you would feel better about it, we can stay, Harry. However, I am confident that Rufus will complete his job as best as he is able, and I, for one, am eager to see how your brother's operation passed."

"Operation?" Harry echoed—he was sure it wasn't a word he'd heard before, but recalling what Dumbledore had said about Kakashi's inability to accompany them, the boy was suddenly worried. "What's he doing? Is he alright?"

"He was in the middle of a complicated medical procedure, when I left," Dumbledore replied calmly, "I am sure he's pulled through, but, as Poppy said, it was a very sensitive process. By now, he should be in the final stage of healing, unless something has gone wrong."

Harry looked between the wizard and the burning town, feeling torn. On the one hand, he did want to see that those people were buried properly—but this was England, and he wasn't sure what a proper burial looked like here, anyway. And if his brother really was undergoing a dangerous procedure, he wanted even more to be sure he had gotten through it safely.

"… Let's go," he said grimly, promising himself that he'd check back on this matter later.

* * *

Dumbledore's face was tense the moment they materialized in the middle of a cobbled road. The sky was dark, and the only light in their immediate vicinity was coming from a dim light bulb illuminating the painted sign on the building they stood in front of—The Three Broomsticks. It flickered as a gentle wind rushed through the street, and the sign creaked as it swayed on its hinges.

Harry's nose wrinkled at the faint odor in the air, though he couldn't tell exactly what it was. Automatically, he looked upwind, where the haphazard structure of Hogwarts loomed black against the night sky.

"Something's wrong," Dumbledore intoned gravely. Harry nodded, and without a word between them, the two were moving swiftly up the road towards the school.

Smoke, Harry realized as they approached the main gate of Hogwarts' grounds. The Genin frowned. It wasn't nearly as strong as it had been at the cliff, but he could definitely smell it. Surreptitiously, he sniffed at his sleeve—he smelled like smoke, too; maybe that was it. But there was something else.

The gates swung open of their own accord and the two moved forward again. The grounds were dark, deep shadows stretching towards them, with only a few yellow lights illuminating windows in the castle's thick walls.

Harry's hand dropped to his weapon pouch nervously—the smell seemed to have gotten stronger—smoke and something else. They were almost jogging as they reached the top of a hill two thirds of the way to the castle.

The Genin's eyes widened and for a moment he stopped, staring. It was still difficult to see, but his eyes had adjusted well, and he could make out the still forms scattered over the ground in front of the school—a handful; four or five in all. They were human-sized and he was suddenly able to identify the other scent that had been bothering him.

It was blood.

No sooner had he made his conclusion, Harry took off again, drawing his weapons as he ran. There was no sign of movement on the grounds so that left only one place the attackers could be—if they were still around.

Dumbledore took a bit longer to run after him, and the distance between the two increased as they covered ground, Harry being much faster. He stopped just short of slamming into the large wooden doors, and pried it open, just far enough to peek through.

Inside, the hall was in chaos. Nobody seemed to notice him, and he took his time, taking in everything. Both sides were spread throughout the room, shooting spells back and forth, and a few bodies were strewn on the ground—dead or unconscious. A group of the fighters, the ones shooting spells at witches and wizards Harry recognized, wore white masks, painted and formed to look like skulls.

Death Eaters, by Kakashi's description.

Harry's eyes narrowed and his muscles tensed in preparation to fight, but in the back of his mind a persistent little voice was insisting that he do nothing. After all, the Death Eaters hadn't really done anything to _him_.

They'd just killed his aunt, uncle, and cousin in an attempt to murder him.

But, the persuasive voice suggested, the people who had attacked his family might not even be among the people in the castle today. Anyway, fighting them like this really wasn't a good idea.

Harry gritted his teeth and slipped back outside, allowing the door to close soundlessly. He pressed his back against the wood and breathed heavily, still struggling with the pacifistic intrusion in his head.

Those people were dangerous. Even if they weren't a threat to him at the moment, he knew without a doubt that they'd attack him the moment they knew he was there. And in the meantime, Kakashi was somewhere in the castle, unable to even defend himself if the bastards turned their wands against him.

"Harry," Dumbledore was finally cresting the steps to the great doors and Harry pinned the man with a glare.

"It's crawling with Death Eaters in there," he said harshly, "And that stupid spell of yours won't let me do anything unless they turn against me first! By then it could be too late!"

Dumbledore stopped in front of him, expression concerned. "Give me your hand, Harry."

Harry continued to glare, but after a few seconds reluctantly proffered his right hand, passing the kunai he held to his left.

"You knew this would happen eventually," the Genin accused, "Voldemort's attacked and you've set it so both Kakashi and I can't do anything—what's the point of all this when you tie our hands so we can't fight!"

"Voldemort is acting with more boldness than I anticipated," Dumbledore admitted, "But I intend to rectify one mistake now. Harry, I release you from your oath."

Harry blinked. He didn't feel any different, and there was no glow of magic or anything like he would have expected. He pulled away from the man and shifted his kunai in his hands again, one for each. They felt looser as he held them, more comfortable than they had only a few minutes earlier.

He frowned up at the wizard quizzically. Was that it?

"The magic behind your promise should be gone now," the old wizard said, "You can—" he broke off when the Genin suddenly lunged at him, the fingers of his left hand fisting in his robes as his right pressed a kunai against the front of his chest, the tip poised at his neck, just above his collarbone. The wizard stiffened, but didn't struggle.

They remained frozen together, Harry listened to the beating in his chest and was pleased when no traitorous voice of logic attempted to sway his desire to kill the man—or, at least, hurt him. The spell must really have been gone.

He considered, for an instant longer, the benefits of killing the wizard on the spot, but his brother hadn't been released from the contract he signed, and his life could be in danger every moment he spent dealing with Dumbledore.

Pushing the old man away, Harry returned to the door and slipped inside.

Across the hall, he saw a head come up, eyes landing squarely on him. The man's mouth opened, but Harry was already moving. His first kunai struck one of the Death Eaters in the back before he even realized he was in danger. He tossed his second from his left hand to his right and threw it after the first almost immediately, hitting another wizard even as he started to turn at the scream of the first.

Harry dove to the side as a jet of green light shot towards him, and reached into his weapon pouch again. His dive turned into a roll that carried him to the momentary shelter of a statue—he thought it might have been Helga Hufflepuff.

With his left hand, he reached into his hip pouch for a pair of small, black spheres—splinters of stone exploded from his hiding place as a spell struck the statue. A small charge of chakra activated his timers and he peaked around the statue. Most of the Death Eaters were involved in fighting other witches and wizards, although a number were attempting to make their way towards him.

The front door swung open again with a loud bang, and Harry used the distraction to roll the two spheres across the floor. One started spewing smoke almost immediately, obscuring his view of the battle, while the other rolled just a bit further.

Harry took off running, skirting the room towards the stairs and feeling for the chakra marker that would indicate the current position of the infirmary.

_Third floor, second hallway, six doors down._

Shouts and curses and flashes of light spat out of the smoke cloud. Harry almost smiled—he hadn't seen a reaction like that to a smoke bomb since the Academy. It would be easy work to take out everyone inside it from the outside, but he'd let them do the work for him; they were bound to hit each other if they kept throwing around curses at random.

As he cleared the last reaches of the smoke, Harry took a second look around the room. More bodies littered the floor—Death Eaters, most often—and it was clear who was winning. Distracted by Harry's appearance, and then Dumbledore's, the would-be attackers were falling to pieces.

He looked to the staircase, only a short distance away now, and put on an extra burst of speed.

He took the stairs two at a time, pausing only when a Death Eater on the first level turned to face him after a spell slammed little Professor Flitwick into the wall. Harry was already less than a meter away and his reaction was quick; a final step followed by a crescent kick snapping the man's outstretched arm. As he howled in pain, Harry slammed into him, using the momentum to push him over the railing.

The shouting of the battle echoed up the staircases as he climbed. Students clustered near the railings, wands out and pointed at the fray below, waiting for an opening. Many of them glanced at him, but no one tried to stop him—until he was nearly to the top of the last staircase, stretching from the second floor to the first in a steeply angled climb.

"Harry!"

Harry looked up, first to the familiar Gryffindor robes and then the equally familiar freckled faces topped with red hair. One of the Weasley twins—Harry only knew them by reputation and their relation to Ron—was barring his way up the stairs, grinning.

"Come to save the day?" His brother asked from over the shoulder of the first.

"In case you're confused," the first added.

"—the fight's that way."

Harry scowled. "If you don't get out of my way, it's going to be right here. I have more important things to do than slaughtering a room full of Death Eaters."

"Ah, don't be like that, Harry," the one blocking his way bemoaned.

Harry had had enough. He pulled back a fist—a flash of light caught his attention and instead of punching the boy, he grabbed his robes and pulled. The two of them tumbled down a few stairs before Harry managed to get a grip on the railing and haul the Weasley to a stop—the other had fallen backwards in surprise, staring with shock at the smoking stakes of wood that were all that was left of the railing they'd been standing at a moment before.

Without climbing to his feet, Harry looked down at the fight—he couldn't tell which Death Eater had thrown the curse; all of them seemed to be otherwise occupied. He turned back to the Weasley twin and pushed the older boy away from him, glaring.

"I suggest you keep your eyes on the guys with the sticks down there," he said coolly, clambering to his feet and up the stairs—neither boy moved to stop him this time.

* * *

The infirmary door opened with a bang, the wood rebounding noisily as it hit the wall. Three men stepped through, tall and ominous with black cloaks and hoods drawn, their faces covered with white, skull-like masks.

Kakashi watched through narrow eyes, slumped against the wall under the window.

"_This _is the one our Lord believes murdered our brothers?" A deep voice demanded from the one on the left. "It's nothing but a sick _child_."

The one in the middle, slightly ahead of the other two, cocked his head to glare at the man before turning back to the slumped young man. "Are you the Hatake brat?"

Kakashi raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

"Maybe he can't talk," the man on the right suggested, voice a light alto, "Some potions have that side effect."

"…" The man in the middle regarded him silently for a moment before nodding. "Take him," he commanded, flourishing a hand absently in the young man's direction. "White hair, no robes, and that strange headband Severus mentioned. There's no one else he could be."

With nods, the two wizards stepped around their leader and approached the sedate ninja, strides long and confident.

Reaching down, the one on the left hauled him unsteadily to his feet—Kakashi swayed and his face and limbs seemed to sag, pale and white.

"Hey…" the one on the right grabbed the young man's other arm and looked at his leader uncertainly, "There's something really wrong with this guy."

Kakashi's head turned; black eyes angry against the pale skin of his face. In one quick motion he'd spat, the hot liquid landing on the Death Eater's mask.

"Brat!" The man snapped, forgetting his earlier complaint long enough to slap the ninja across the face.

That was all it took for the clone to deactivate, and suddenly the two men found their hands full of volatile electricity. They screamed as the energy coursed into their bodies, burning skin and overriding nervous system. The one on the right fell to the ground, shaking and jerking in violent spasms, and the man on the left reeled back, trembling, still wailing out his pain.

"You idiots!" Their leader snapped, head spinning frantically. "What was that? What happened to the brat?!"

The one that had managed to keep his feet thus far finally collapsed to his knees, retching on the floor, still shaking. His leader stalked over and hauled him up by the shoulder of his robes—his hood fell down in the process, revealing his short brown hair. The leader pulled him upright until their masks were almost touching.

"What the hell happened?" He demanded again.

"I—I don't know," the man replied harshly, coughing like he was about to throw up again.

The leader dropped him roughly and looked up, taking out his wand. "He has to be here somewhere," he grumbled, flicking the wand at the bed on the far right. A burst of light exploded out of his wand and hit the bed, throwing it up in the air with the sound of splintering wood.

Immediately, he moved on to the next, destroying it in a similar manner, and on down the line.

Two beds from the door, his search finally turned profitable, and with a wave of his wand, the bed collapsed onto another further down the length of the room. He stalked forward.

The young, white-haired man was on the ground, clutching his right arm. But he staggered to his feet quickly once his hiding place was revealed; his single visible eye narrowed and masked jaw tight.

The man raised his wand again, pointing the tip at the Jounin. "Incarcerous," he hissed, and in the same instant a thick, braided rope was flying towards Kakashi, who barely managed to dodge out of the way, catching himself on the next bed over.

With a growl, the man flicked his wand again. "Stupefy!"

The bolt of red nearly caught the ninja, who gave in to his body's protests and doubled over, following through with the motion to roll out of the way. He was breathing heavily already, sweat coating his forehead. He had hoped the clone would take out all of them—now he'd have to think of something else. And fast.

His arm was tingling and aching, pressured from the inside, it felt as though it was pushing firmly on his skin and in on what was left of his bones and muscle, like it would break open at any moment. Worse, though his heart was pounding and his muscles straining, he _couldn't _fight. He was tired and weakened, but that had never stopped him in the past. It was like his body was working against itself. Every time his mind sent his muscles a command, it was shot down if it was an act of violence against the wizards in front of him—he'd barely managed the lightning shadow clone.

He had to think of another strategy.

The Jounin narrowly ducked out of the way of another spell, but when it hit the bed he'd been next to, the thing exploded, shrapnel battering against his back and the force of it knocking him to the ground. A flash of pain as he landed on his injured arm paralyzed him for an instant, but then he was moving again, rolling out of the way of another flying rope and stumbling in the direction of his feet.

His breathing was audible in the room now, loud, harsh gasps for air. He didn't know why he was so tired—even with Madam Pomfrey's technique for healing his arm. He felt drained, more than he should've been for the single jutsu he'd used.

"Slippery brat," the man muttered, lashing out with his wand again. Kakashi hit the ground a little harder than he would have liked when he dropped out of the way, but he'd barely started to push himself up when a red jet of light hit him from the direction of the two downed men—he'd _thought_ they were out, at least.

For an instant, pain paralyzed every nerve in his body, and then blackness overtook his vision, smothered out his hearing, and finally, dragged him into unconsciousness. His muscles relaxed involuntarily and his body fell lax on the floor.

* * *

Harry slammed the door to the infirmary open and took in the damaged room. The broken beds, scorched walls, and even the mess left in the middle of the floor. But it was empty. There was no sign of his brother—or the Death Eaters who must have been there to cause so much destruction.

Cursing under his breath, Harry flared his chakra and expanded his senses, searching for his brother's familiar signature: first the infirmary and then moving on to take in as much of the castle as he could.

Nothing.

Anger boiled inside the Genin, with fear not far underneath—they'd taken him; they must have. It was the only explanation. He had to find out where he was—he'd kill every last one of them if that's what it took!

Turning abruptly, he stormed back out, running down the hall to the stair cases, kunai out and killing intent flaring brightly.

But when he reached the top of the stairway, there was nothing. The shouting had gone quiet and light of spells were no longer flying around. The battle was over and the survivors were milling around, staff ensuring that the Death Eaters were properly restrained and the students were safely returning to their beds.

Frustration seeped into his consciousness. It couldn't be over—not when he was just getting started.

Throwing away all caution, he jumped over the railing and dropped to the floor, three levels below, using chakra to cushion his impact and ignoring the sounds of surprise from those around him. He stalked across to Dumbledore, who was directing the clearing of the hall.

"What are you going to do with the prisoners?" He demanded harshly.

The wizard looked at him in surprise, an eyebrow rising. "These are enemies of the Ministry and all free peoples everywhere," he supplied calmly, "They will be tried and incarcerated by the Wizengamot."

"Give one to me," Harry demanded.

Dumbledore's second eyebrow joined his first, high on his forehead. "Excuse me?"

"Give one to me!" Harry repeated angrily, "They took him—I need to find out where he is!"

For a moment, the old wizard didn't seem to have understood the boy, then, suddenly, his expression sobered. "Oh… I see… I am sorry, Harry, but I don't see how taking one of these would help you. I have my sources; I will help you find your brother."

"I don't want your _help_," Harry growled, "I'll find him myself!"

"Now, now, be reasonable, Harry," Dumbledore cautioned tactfully, "Do you really believe one of Voldemort's followers will simply _tell_ you where they are holding Kakashi?"

"I'll _make_ them tell," Harry said dangerously. He didn't have much training in torture, but basic interrogation techniques were part of the curriculum at the Academy, and he was confident he could make use of them.

The wizard's eyebrows lowered and he frowned severely. "Harry… if you're suggesting what I think you are…"

"They took my brother!" Harry shouted, "I can't let them get away with that! And neither can you—this is _your_ fault! You made him destroy those stupid Horcruxes even though you knew how dangerous it was!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, please. I want to get your brother back, as well, but I will not condone torture for any reason. Calm down and think; if they didn't kill him, then Voldemort must want him alive for some reason, which means we have time to plan our next action."

Harry grabbed the man again, knife poised above his collarbone, eyes hard and angry. Dumbledore did not flinch, staring calmly back in the face of the boy's murderous rage.

"If this doesn't work and he dies… I'm holding _you_ responsible," he said coldly, "You'll pay it back with your life."

Still, Dumbledore said nothing.

Reluctantly, Harry released the man and stormed out of the castle.

* * *

Harry ran, breathing heavily as he completed another circuit around the castle. He was full of anxious energy and couldn't possibly keep still. He'd tried training with the Chidori, but he was too preoccupied with everything that had happened to muster the concentration that technique required.

Despite what he'd told Dumbledore, there was one thing he was certain of. This was all _his_ fault. He had known something like this would happen, and he hadn't said anything—hadn't warned his brother or anything.

"_The Destroyer will be taken. Bound in chains, he will go willingly. The Dark Lord will see then, but he will not understand. But, beware; if he learns the warrior's way, he will be unstoppable."_

The words of Professor Trelawney's prophecy had been echoing through his mind all morning, accusing him relentlessly.

He'd _known_. If he'd said something, he might have been able to stop this from happening, but he'd been too caught up in training and trying to find a way home. He'd known the prophecy was important, after talking to Hermione and Savage about it; his gut had insisted there was something urgent in the broken message, but he'd selfishly denied acknowledging its true importance.

The Genin pushed himself to run faster, sweat soaking into his clothes and slicking his skin and hair.

He was an idiot. Even if he didn't believe it, he should have at least mentioned it. He'd had plenty of opportunities, especially after his brother's arm had been hurt and he'd spent most of his time at the castle.

His legs were burning and Harry was distracted, for a moment, wondering just how long he'd been running like this. It had still been dark out when he'd started, but the sun was already hanging in the sky over the forest.

He had to find Kakashi. He had to rescue him, somehow. Voldemort had made a mistake in kidnapping his brother—because now Harry was going to kill him, destiny or no.

* * *

Cornelius Fudge mopped at his sweaty red brow with a large, damp handkerchief. Returning it to his pocket, he forced himself to look the elder wizard in the eyes. "There's nothing I can do this time, Albus," he said sharply, "The board will demand for Hogwarts to be closed—and they will be right to do so."

"I understand how serious this is," Dumbledore agreed somberly, "But are the students really going to be any more safe somewhere else? For some of them, Hogwarts is the safest place for them. If they want to remain here, we shouldn't take the option away from them."

"Albus, be reasonable!" The Minister exclaimed, sweating again already. "If you can't protect the school, you can't expect the Ministry to allow you to keep it in operation! How many casualties did you have? This is a school—parents shouldn't have to worry about whether their children will come back to them alive at the end of the year!"

"I understand what's at stake here," Dumbledore said grimly, "More than you, perhaps. We can't afford to lose the support of the parents, but a school should be a place for the students. As long as they are in need, I would like to see Hogwarts remain open. Parents are free, of course, to remove their children from enrollment as they see fit."

"And what are you going to do without any students?" Fudge demanded, taking a moment to mop his forehead again.

"Dumbledore has a point, Minister," Scrimgeour said dryly, "We shouldn't be so preoccupied with closing the school—the board hasn't even decided, yet. We should also prepare for the eventuality that Hogwarts _does_ remain open. I suggest dispatching a team of Aurors to act as a permanent guard here at the school."

Fudge looked at the Auror sharply, but nodded after a moment. "Yes, that's true. _If_ the board votes to keep Hogwarts open, additional efforts must be taken to secure the safety of the children."

"… Of course," Dumbledore agreed resignedly.

"Well, it's getting late, Minister," the man's aid, a young woman with sharp eyes, interrupted, "We should be getting back to the Ministry—after this incident, there is still a lot of work to finish."

Fudge sighed, "Yes, yes. Rufus, I expect you will present your plan to the board when we return."

The man nodded slightly, "Yes, of course."

"Good, then—" a shrill shriek interrupted the man and all of the wizards startled, turning towards the door. Dumbledore and Scrimgeour were the first ones through, the Minister's guards behind them and the others running after.

Further shouts and screaming reached them in the hall, as well as a deep, dangerous growl that seemed to reverberate through the very walls of the castle.

"This way," Dumbledore said, taking the lead as he rounded a corner. The double doors of the infirmary rose in front of them and he burst through, wand drawn.

The scene inside was pandemonium and the Minister gasped, "Good lord!" Unfortunately, even his soft comment drew the attention of the source of the chaos; large, pointed ears twitching slightly and gold, canine eyes rolling to look at them.

Stuffing and feathers were scattered everywhere from the newly restored beds, wood was splintered and frames broken; the wallpaper had been torn from the walls in violent slashes and shards of glass littered the ground where medical instruments had been flung. Madam Pomfrey had her wand out, chest heaving and blood staining her beige robes.

Dumbledore cursed under his breath and threw a repelling charm into the air between him and the werewolf—two hundred and fifty pounds of violent destruction that was suddenly charging towards them.

The beast snarled as it rebounded against the invisible barrier, leaping at it again and again and lashing out violently.

"Poppy, what happened here?" Dumbledore demanded, shouting over the sound of the snarling wolf.

"I don't—oh, professor, it was horrible!" The mediwitch exclaimed miserably, "He started changing—there wasn't anything we could do! I don't think he's had his potion."

This time the wizard really did swear. "Poppy, get the patients into the antechamber," he ordered, "We need to get him out of the castle before he hurts anyone."

"Albus!" Fudge's voice was furious, "What is the meaning of this?! You allow a werewolf to roam around free in the school!"

"Nonsense," Dumbledore countered, "That would be irresponsible. Severus usually brews Wolfsbane for him, and he waits out the night behind locked doors. Unfortunately, with the battle and everything since… it seems the full moon was forgotten."

"This is mad!" Fudge bellowed indignantly, but was distracted from further complaint when Dumbledore's shield flickered brightly and disappeared. He gave a startled shout, backing up. "What are you waiting for? Get rid of it!" He demanded of the Aurors serving as his guards.

"I'd like to settle this peaceably if at all possible," Dumbledore muttered, the swish of his wand releasing a red bolt towards the man-turned-animal.

With a snarl, the wolf jumped to the side, claws coming up as it closed in on the wizards. Dumbledore's face flashed with surprise; he brought his wand around again, but Scrimgeour was already moving.

"Diffindo!" The Auror's voice rang out, and in a flash the wolf was reeling, long claws stopping short of meeting its prey.

A spray of blood broke through one of the creature's beefy forearms and it released a guttural howl of pain, golden eyes flicking to the other man only an instant before he charged.

"Diffindo!" Scrimgeour shouted again, and this time the spell struck the werewolf's chest, a long cut opening the tough hide.

"Expeloquis!" Dumbledore inserted, his own wand shooting the spell at the wolf, knocking it back into the far wall with another terrible howl—the pitch almost equal to a human scream.

It pushed itself up, golden eyes flickering as it considered the wizards a moment longer before abruptly turning and leaping through a window with a crash of glass. Dumbledore ran forward with the Aurors, crunching across the broken glass until they could see through the window.

The night was dark already, but the moon was bright, and one of the younger Aurors was the first to catch sight of the large, quick figure moving across the grounds. "There!" He shouted, pointing with an extended hand, "Heading towards the forest. Should we pursue?"

"No!" Dumbledore snapped—at the same moment, Scrimgeour said the same.

Glancing at the headmaster, the lead Auror shook his head. "It's heading away from the castle, that's enough for now. We'll spread the word through Hogsmeade; make sure everyone knows to stay indoors for the night, then we'll round it up in the morning, after he turns back."

The younger Aurors nodded, acknowledging their orders.

"Albus!" Fudge's voice was harsh, and it was with reluctance that the Headmaster turned. The Minister's eyes were bright with fury. "Even if the board allows the school to remain open, I doubt it will approve you as the Headmaster. I, personally, plan on presenting my own opinion—that you have grown far too hazardous to retain this responsibility."


	24. New Allegiances

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Naruto, or anything witty to say in this disclaimer.

Finally got chapter 24 done... (I wonder if everyone's beginning to expect chapters a day late, yet?) I don't have much to say... a quick reminder to everyone that Voldemort resurrected his body using the Philosopher's Stone in this reality, which is why he doesn't necessarily share a strong physical resemblance with canon-Voldemort. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was quite an enjoyable waste of an afternoon, although the clever artistic effect of fading out the colors as the series progresses is beginning to get on my nerves. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. As usual, I'm way behind in replying. (One of these days I'm going to get on top of it, I swear.) Chapter 25 should be up August 8th because I'm going to be gone that whole first week and I doubt I'll manage to get it up before I leave. Hope you enjoy chapter 24!

Chapter 24 – New Allegiances

Roosted in one of the upper branches of the tall oaks in the Forbidden Forest, Harry was half-asleep, exhausted from his workout but still too anxious over his brother's safety for true rest.

He'd reached the conclusion, some eight hours before, that it was stupid for him to be worrying about Kakashi. Like Dumbledore had said, the Death Eaters hadn't killed him outright, so they probably wanted him for something. And as soon as they left Hogwarts' grounds, Kakashi would be able to fight again.

Still, as stupid as it was, he couldn't help worrying.

And what if Trelawney's prophecy was true? What if Kakashi decided to team up with the people who had killed so many members of Harry's family, and tried to kill him time and again? He wasn't sure that he'd be able to support his brother in a situation like that.

Harry's head snapped up, instantly aware at the sound of a howl somewhere between him and the castle. It sounded like a dog—a large one—or a wolf. But as far as he knew, there were no wolves in the forest.

His heart sped up a little and his eyes widened. Could it be one of Kakashi's summons? Perhaps the Jounin had already escaped—or he was sending a call for help.

Quickly, Harry dropped out of the tree, looking towards the source of the howl. He hadn't recognized the dog's voice, but then he hadn't met each one of Kakashi's summons.

Harry frowned when, a few seconds later, he could hear a massive creature crashing through the woods. Cautiously, he pulled out a kunai. His brother's summons were well trained ninken; even under duress they would never move so clumsily. Which meant it was something else entirely.

For a moment the giant spiders that had chased him and Pakkun flashed through his mind; but the pug had said they nested nearer to the center of the forest. It wouldn't make sense for them to be coming from the direction of the castle.

His muscles tensed as a large, snarling beast suddenly burst into his small clearing. It certainly wasn't one of Kakashi's ninken, and it looked like no breed of wolf Harry had ever seen.

It was easily seven feet tall, raised up on its hind legs like it was at the moment, with beefy muscles and coarse, long fur sprouted everywhere. Its mouth was full of long white teeth and its claws resembled jagged nails more than the stubby things he was used to seeing on his brother's pack of dogs. Then there was the keen shine of intelligence in its large golden eyes as it froze, studying him for a moment.

It paused near the edge of the clearing, staring at him, and sniffed at the air. A familiar lust for blood crept into its expression and a cold knot formed in Harry's stomach. Suddenly, he knew exactly what it was. His eyes narrowed and his grip on the kunai he was holding tightened.

If a werewolf was half as vicious as what he'd read, he would probably have to kill it. He allowed his chakra to swell inside of him, turning his thoughts on the bastards who had taken his brother. Immediately, Harry felt the urge to kill Voldemort and his men swell inside of him again, and he turned the intent towards the creature.

Its next step hesitated and it sniffed the air again, snarling and moving closer a little more cautiously. Frowning, Harry focused his killing intent further, preparing himself to follow through with the threat if the beast came much further.

It took another slow step forward, snuffling and snarling. Harry's muscles tightened—he was within the range of its long, muscular arms already. It looked like he'd have to kill it after all.

Even as the conclusion entered his head, the beast suddenly took an abrupt step back, turned, and fled from the clearing.

Slowly, Harry relaxed.

* * *

It wasn't the gradual climb out of unconsciousness that Kakashi had experienced dozens of times in his life. One second he was aware of nothing, and the next his eyes snapped open and everything had sprung into existence around him, all at once.

He was bound tightly in ropes; arms pinned to either side of his body and stretched out on a hard, bumpy floor. The ceiling hung low over him and the room was dark, the only light coming from a candle held a meter or so from the ground to his left. A pair of eyes peered at him through the soft globe of light; beady black eyes sunken back in a thin, shadowed face on top of a skinny, shrunken body clothed in a weathered black robe.

Kakashi's mind reeled with disorientation and confusion—hadn't he been in the Hogwarts' infirmary? He was sure that's where he had been just an instant before… But there had been Death Eaters; a fight. His eyes narrowed as he recalled a spell hitting him, striking him into unconsciousness.

That was probably where he was now—with the Death Eaters.

Just as he'd straightened out the events in his head, the small man with the candle turned and scurried across to a door, pausing a few seconds before letting himself out. Kakashi heard the click of a lock in the darkness.

He cursed under his breath, testing the thick ropes that curled and twisted around his body. It was the worst possible time for him to be captured, and he needed to get out—fast. His muscles ached and his head felt light; his right arm throbbed and his whole body felt drained of strength, his chakra exhausted.

The door opened again and the thin man lit black wax candles at either side of the doorway before backing out again, leaving Kakashi alone with another man.

He was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes—they almost looked black, but there was a red sheen, a trick of the light, maybe. He gave Kakashi a sense of unease and his heart beat a hair faster in his chest.

As Kakashi studied the stranger's sharply angled face, he was studied carefully in return, silence hanging heavily between them for several seconds. Finally, the dark haired man was the one to break the quiet.

"You look like your father," his voice was cold and his tone implied the connection was an unpleasant one, "Hatake Kakashi."

"It's possible," Kakashi retorted casually. People rarely mentioned his father anymore, and it was strange that so far away from his home so many people seemed to know the dead Hatake.

The dark haired man frowned, his eyes narrowing and a startlingly clear flash of red overpowering the black irises. The red orbs—like and completely unlike Kakashi's own Sharingan all at once—regarded the shinobi coldly as the man casually reached into the sleeve of his robe, drawing out a long, thin stick with his pale fingers.

"_Crucio._"

The wave of pain hit Kakashi's senses all at once; burning agony attacking every nerve ending in his body, a ripping, tearing pain that seemed to be on the verge of pulling him apart the longer it lasted. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out as his body jerked and shook without his control.

A short eternity later the pain stopped as abruptly as it had started. Kakashi's mouth was tainted with blood and his arms and legs throbbed where they'd been tied after rubbing violently against the roughly hewn ropes.

"You've been killing my followers," the man said coldly, the slightest undertone of a hiss in his words. "That is something I cannot forgive easily."

Kakashi glared, lips pulling back in a snarl. So _this_ was Voldemort; the enemy his brother was meant to kill. "Go to hell."

"_Crucio_," the man said again, eyes cold and black.

Somehow, it was even worse than before, and Kakashi couldn't even begin to retreat to the mental hideaway he'd been taught to take advantage of; the pain was just too great. It was all he could do not to scream, teeth grinding against each other and body flailing against his ropes until the thick bindings rubbed his skin raw.

His breath came in heavy, pained gasps when the torture finally let up. He couldn't see; his uncovered eye wouldn't fall into focus and pain blurred his senses for several seconds. He tilted his head on instinct, not entirely sure why until the bile was burning on his tongue—he just managed to choke it down, not wanting to appear any weaker than he already did. The bitter flavor mixed with blood in his mouth, and his stomach churned unsteadily.

Blearily, he managed to focus a glare in the man's general direction. He opened his mouth for a scathing response, but was racked with a fit of harsh coughs instead, blood splattering the floor in front of him.

A cruel smile twisted the man's lips and he laughed harshly. "Just like your father," he said again, "You think you're so clever—it doesn't feel very good, does it? Are you clever enough to know what's good for you, Kakashi?"

Instead of answering—Kakashi didn't trust his voice—he simply smiled in response, although his eye remained hard and he made no attempt to hide his hatred.

The man scowled again. "_Crucio._"

* * *

Frowning, Harry's pace slowed as he approached the front of the castle. There were half a dozen figures standing around the door; four men and two women. They weren't wearing school robes, and they didn't look like staff. They were dressed more like Savage—Aurors.

He hunkered down close to the ground, lying flat so he could watch and get a better idea of what they were doing here. It probably had to do with the attack, he reasoned, but Dumbledore hadn't mentioned anything about extra security to him. Then again, he'd been out all the day before and hadn't seen the Headmaster since the battle ended.

A group of four split off from the other two, leaving them at the door while they went off around the edge of the castle. Harry waited until the group was out of sight to move forward again.

He was still some distance from the front steps when the pair noticed him. They tensed immediately, drawing wands and watching his approach carefully. Harry resisted the urge to reach for his own weapons. It was reasonable, he reminded himself, that they'd reinforced their security. Besides, he could probably take them out by hand if it came to that.

"Hold it," the man on the left finally spoke when Harry was halfway up the steps—too close, he criticized silently. "What are you doing outside of the castle?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, "I was exercising."

The man frowned. "All students are restricted to their commons. Who did you check out with?"

"No one," Harry replied.

"There have been guards posted at all the exits and entrances since last night," the Auror said suspiciously, "How did you get out without passing through a checkpoint?"

"I've been out since the attack," Harry supplied grumpily. "I know you know who I am, and you probably also know that I wasn't around the school—where did you think I was, hiding in the basement? Let me in, I need to see Dumbledore."

"We can't let you in just like that," the second Auror interceded, "You could be a Death Eater in disguise for all we know. Show us your wand."

Harry wasn't sure whether he should be glad that they were reasonably competent or not—at the moment he was finding it more annoying than comforting. Digging in one of his hip pouches, Harry pulled out his wand, twirling it between his fingers before holding it out to the man.

"Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather," Harry supplied tersely, "It's mine."

"We'll see," the man muttered. He pointed his own wand at Harry's and murmured an incantation. Blue-white light surrounded Harry's wand for a moment, then letters appeared in the air over it, displaying the same information Harry had just given him, along with his name at the bottom of the list—Harry was particularly annoyed to see the letters still read _Harry Potter_.

"See?" Harry prompted irritably, "Now will you let me in?"

"Just a moment," the man continued, "Even if you really are Harry Potter, you could still be under a curse—the Imperius, possibly."

Harry scowled, "So what do you want me to do? Isn't Imperius impossible to detect?"

"There are certain spells that can be used to determine its presence," the man responded slowly, "However they require the approval of the Wizenmagot. We'll need to take you into custody for further testing."

Harry's eyes narrowed. He shoved his wand back into its pouch, his fingers lingering on the senbon stored beside it. At this range, he was reasonably confident he could knock them both out without causing permanent damage—he wasn't as comfortable with the needle-like weapons as with solid kunai, but at blank range he'd have to be blind and dizzy to miss.

Before he could act on the impulse the doors opened behind the Aurors—Remus Lupin froze in the doorway, looking out at the three of them in surprise.

"Harry," he said at last, "Professor Dumbledore has been looking for you—where have you been?"

"Thinking," Harry replied shortly. He eyed the two Aurors darkly and added, "Somewhere where I wouldn't be tempted to _hurt_ anyone."

Lupin looked at the two men with a frown. "You know we've been looking for Mr. Hatake; why haven't you let him through?"

"He's been missing for two days," the one on the left said gruffly, "There's some question as to whether he's still himself. And there _are_ security procedures some of us have to follow," he finished with a disgruntled look at the man.

Lupin ignored the expression. "Some question—" he broke off with an exasperated sigh. "It's him they want, isn't it? Why would they send him back to us? Harry, what did you have the most trouble with when you first came here?"

Harry was so surprised by the question that it took him a moment to realize just what the man was asking. He frowned slightly in bemusement, "What?"

"It's called a safety question," Lupin supplied, "Haven't you seen the pamphlets? Something that only the person would know and impersonators would have a hard time getting the answer to."

"I've seen them," Harry grumbled, because it was impossible not to—they were everywhere. "When I… _first_ came here?" He asked, glancing briefly at the suspicious-eyed Aurors before looking back to the professor.

"You remember, don't you?" Lupin pressed.

"I remember," Harry muttered, his ears beginning to redden. It had been embarrassing enough at the time, and he didn't really want to bring it all up again. "I suppose… back then I had a lot of trouble… reading." He _still_ had trouble reading, but he wasn't about to admit it out loud.

Lupin looked at the Aurors, but they didn't appear impressed.

"Anyone could guess that," the one on the right countered, "And that kind of answer isn't specific enough to prove he isn't under someone else's influence."

Rolling his eyes, Lupin looked at Harry again, "You remember when we first started? You could only write two words; what were they?"

Harry felt more heat bleeding into his face and couldn't help but think the entire thing was stupid. "… The word _Atlas_ and my name, _Harry_…" he paused, then added, defensively, "But I knew the letter _P_, too."

The man smiled with satisfaction and turned to the Aurors again, "There, see; victims of Imperius aren't able to recall details that the caster doesn't know himself."

The Aurors eyed the other two wizards suspiciously a moment longer before nodding reluctantly and stepping aside, lowering their wands.

"You can go in… Mr. Hatake," the one on the left allowed.

Harry glowered and moved past them, only to stop when he noticed Lupin was picking up a black trunk and heading past him. Frowning, he turned to the professor in confusion.

"You're leaving?"

Lupin glanced back at him, hesitantly smiling. "That's right."

Harry's forehead furrowed, "Why? Because of the attack?" Disgust crept into his voice—he'd liked Lupin, and imagining the man as such a coward was sickening.

Lupin looked away, "It's complicated."

Turning from the castle, Harry caught up with Lupin as the professor headed towards the gates. "What's really going on then?"

Glancing back at the castle, the man hesitated again. He sighed. "You'll find out soon, anyway. Harry..." He took a deep breath, "I'm a werewolf."

Harry stared at him blankly for a moment before recognition hit him. "You were the one I saw in the woods last night," he guessed.

The man looked miserable as he nodded, "Must have been. I don't—I didn't hurt you, did I?" His eyes were suddenly moving over the boy, looking for possible injuries.

Harry rolled his eyes, "It takes more than a big dog to hurt a shinobi, Lupin-sensei. Anyway, I think you were smarter in your wolf form—one look at me and you ran away."

Lupin's forehead furrowed, "I did…? That's unusual."

"Wild animals tend to keep clear of shinobi," Harry shrugged, "Unless they think they have a chance of overpowering us."

"Well… that's a relief, at least," Lupin sighed, "I'm afraid I caused a ruckus in the infirmary—no one was killed, or bitten, but that's still my job."

Harry frowned, "Dumbledore fired you because of an accident like that? He should have known it could happen when he hired you."

"Ah… it wasn't Professor Dumbledore," Lupin said quickly, "The Minister was here. You know werewolves aren't allowed certain jobs—the Ministry was kept unaware that I was a werewolf until then…" He shook his head, "We shouldn't have been keeping secrets in the first place, but Professor Dumbledore was having a hard time filling the position after the last few years."

"Why? What happened?" Harry wondered.

"Some people think the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is cursed," Lupin supplied, "First with Professor Quirrell… he'd held the position for quite some time, but two years ago he was killed by Voldemort—apparently, he'd been possessing him until he found the opportunity to revive."

Harry frowned, "Did he use a red stone to get his body back?"

Lupin looked at him in surprise, "Yes, the Philosopher's Stone—did Professor Dumbledore tell you that?"

Harry didn't respond.

Shaking his head, Lupin continued, "Gilderoy Lockhart taught last year, but that didn't end well, either. It seems he was a bit of a fraud to begin with, and when Death Eaters made an appearance in Hogsmeade near the end of the year there was a rumor they were planning an attack on Hogwarts—he left without telling anyone and was found half dead a few days later."

"And now they fired you because they found out you were a werewolf," Harry finished, "It doesn't look good, does it?"

Smiling slightly, Lupin shook his head.

They stopped, looking up at the gates looming over them. Lupin looked back at Harry, "You should get back in the castle—Dumbledore needs to speak with you and—" he cut himself off.

Harry frowned, "And what?"

"… I should let him tell you that himself," Lupin said.

Reluctantly, Harry nodded. "Where are you going now?"

"I'll stick around," Lupin assured him, "Sirius offered to let me stay at his place, so I'll take him up on that for a while, at least." He glanced at the gate and then back at the teen, expression sobering, "Harry, even though we aren't here with you, both Sirius and I will do everything we can to help you get your brother back. Remember that you aren't alone in this, okay?"

"Mm," Harry agreed half-heartedly. "You're right; I need to talk to Dumbledore."

* * *

Knocking once before entering, Harry looked around the office—the Headmaster was nowhere to be seen. The teen scowled, it figured that the one time he actually _wanted_ to speak with the old wizard he'd go missing.

"Hello? Dumbledore-san, are you here?" Harry called out despite it being obvious that the wizard was _not_.

It was one of the portraits on the wall that answered him; Phineas Black. "As you can clearly see," the dark haired man in the portrait responded snidely, "The Headmaster is not in. He is, in fact, engaged in a meeting at the Ministry of Magic."

Harry scowled, looking around the room again. Even Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix, was missing. For a moment he considered leaving and coming back later—he had better things to do than wait around for an absent wizard. Then he realized this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

A slight smile crossed his face and he glanced behind himself to ensure the door was shut securely. Crossing the room, Harry rounded the desk and immediately opened the upper left hand drawer.

The portrait of Dilys Derwent gaped at him in horror, her voice loud and shrill, "What are you doing?! That is the Headmaster's property—you have no business snooping in there, young man!"

"Detention!" Dexter Fortescue bellowed, nose redder than usual and beady eyes bright and angry, "I'll see to it that you'll be hanging in detention every day until the end of term, boy! You'll be copying lines until your fingers bleed!"

Harry ignored the very vocal protests of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses watching on, beginning to sort through the papers and other items filling Dumbledore's desk.

There were a lot of mundane things that were only to be expected. Trinkets that looked as though they might have once belonged to students; countless stacks of papers referring to specific students and staff, or school functions in general; a few open envelopes that contained personal letters to Dumbledore himself; a stash of Sherbet Lemons hidden away in the bottom drawer on the left hand side. Harry wasn't looking for anything in particular, but he couldn't let the opportunity pass him by in case there was something of interest buried within the old wizard's desk. He was confident that he would recognize it if and when he saw it.

He sorted through the drawers quickly, careful to leave everything exactly as he had found it. None of the drawers were locked, and none contained anything of particular interest to him. Until he reached the large drawer on the lower right hand side, which thudded and refused to budge when he pulled on the handle.

Frowning, he crouched down in front of the drawer and pulled back a flap of fabric on his belt, feeling the collection of tools hidden there and pulling out one that seemed about the right size. He inserted the needle-like instrument carefully into the hole on the drawer and began the practiced process of moving it around until he felt the lock give and heard the faint _click_ of the mechanisms inside.

He pulled the drawer open with a smirk and peered inside. Sitting at an angle was a thick, rectangular board—twenty by fifty centimeters—and he pulled it out curiously to have a better look.

It was a small painting; three young people stared out at him, two boys with short, auburn hair, and a girl with locks that were slightly more blonde than the boys. The young boy and girl in the first row were alternatively staring somberly out at him and exchanging small, secret smiles with each other. The one in the back looked a little older and was a head taller than the others. The younger boy poked the older one, who struck the younger lightly across the back of his head, rolling his eyes.

It was Dumbledore—Harry recognized him almost immediately. The eyes were the same shade of blue, and the lines of his jaw and general structure of his face hadn't changed even while the skin and hair aged around it. It was one of the things Harry was best at—he'd been called in, once, by his brother, to confirm the identity of a man with several scars and a broken jaw against an old picture. Compared to that, it was easy to see the results of simple aging.

His eyes slid down to linger on the younger boy—Harry searched the lines and features of his face, committing them to memory. If the older was Albus Dumbledore, the younger was probably his brother—the Aberforth Kakashi had found out about. His gaze shifted again and he frowned at the girl at Aberforth's side, who looked younger than both of them.

A sister?

Harry looked up at the sound of rushing flames; the fireplace had roared to life and a second later Dumbledore stepped out of it. He looked around, eyes moving to rest on Harry—one of the portraits on the wall was reporting Harry's behavior in an indignant tone, but Dumbledore didn't seem to pay it mind. His eyebrows lowered into a frown and he began walking towards him.

"Harry," he said, surprise in his tone, "What are you doing back there?"

Harry stood, lifting the portrait for the old wizard to see—there wasn't any reason for him to hide it. "I didn't know you had a sister, Dumbledore-san."

The old wizard's expression was unusually blank. "She died. A long time ago, Harry. I would appreciate it if you didn't go through my personal items."

Harry put the portrait back into the drawer. "I wanted to talk to you, but your friends"—he nodded to the portraits on the wall—"said you were at the Ministry."

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed, "I was called before the Board of Education."

"About the attack," Harry guessed.

"And the subsequent events, yes," Dumbledore said.

Harry frowned, "What was decided? I saw the Aurors outside, and Lupin-sensei said he'd been fired."

"… Fortunately, the school will remain open for those students who still wish to attend," Dumbledore said, "However neither Lupin nor I will be here to see it through."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked in confusion, "Have you found where they're holding my brother already?"

"No," Dumbledore replied somberly, scrutinizing a small, spindly silver object which sat atop a small, round table. "Professor Lupin is not the only one who has been sacked."

Harry smirked before he could stop himself. Biting his lip, he struggled to smother the cruel satisfaction he felt welling up inside of him. "Oh. Well, I'm sorry, then," he offered, rather insincerely.

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Unfortunately, this also means I must leave you here."

Harry's smile dropped completely and he opened his mouth to respond, and then hesitated, unsure of how to start. "What do you mean?" He finally burst, "I still need to know how to get home—and my brother! You promised you would help find him!"

"Calm down, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, "I still intend to fulfill my promises to you. Things will simply be a bit more complicated now. I will keep in touch, I promise."

"Keep in touch?" Harry repeated incredulously, "The only reason I'm here is because of you! I'm not staying—I'll go with you and we can concentrate on finding Kakashi. Then you can send us home."

The old man shook his head, "You can't come with me, Harry."

"This is ridiculous," Harry said irritably, "Lupin's leaving, so there'll be no Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and you're leaving… What's the point of staying here, then?"

"The same as it has always been," Dumbledore supplied calmly, "For you to learn about magic."

"I don't want to learn magic!" Harry snapped.

Dumbledore said nothing and a silence settled between them. Dumbledore left the spindly object and stepped around his desk, sitting down as Harry retreated a few steps, giving him room. Methodically, the old wizard began opening his own drawers, keen eyes seeking out what might have been disturbed.

Harry watched him silently for a minute or two.

"Tell me about the prophecy," the teen demanded abruptly.

Dumbledore looked up, frowning. "Pardon?"

"You said there was a prophecy about Voldemort and I," Harry extrapolated, "Tell me what it said."

The old wizard stared at him intently for a moment, and then slowly shook his head. "No," he said at last, "Not yet."

Harry bristled, "Why not? You said the reason I have to kill Voldemort is because it's my destiny—because of some prophecy! I want to know what it said."

"I will tell you," Dumbledore countered, "When you have come to have an understanding and respect for magic. Until you do, it is useless."

Harry snorted. "I understand magic. I've always understood it—it's what's been giving me so much trouble for as long as I can remember. But I'll never _respect_ it!"

"You will, yet," Dumbledore promised, "Given time and experience."

"I don't _have_ time," Harry retorted, "Voldemort's got my brother, and maybe I'll have to kill him in order to get him back! That should make _you_ happy, at least. Before I confront him, I need to know what it says."

Dumbledore regarded the young man in front of him for another long, silent moment. "Why do you want so much to know if, as you say, you have no respect for magic?"

"Just because I don't respect it doesn't mean I don't believe it has its uses," Harry grumbled, "Voldemort was strong enough to capture my brother alive, I'm going to need every advantage when I go against him—and that means knowing what the prophecy says."

For several seconds the old man stared into Harry's eyes in silence. Slowly, he drew out his wand, turning it towards his own forehead and pressing the tip to his temple.

"Your brother will have told you, I trust, of an object called a pensieve," Dumbledore prompted, drawing the tip of his wand slowly away from his skin. With it came a shimmering golden string, pulling out of the man's skin.

Harry nodded; staring as the end of the string finally broke free, swaying at the end of Dumbledore's wand as though battered by some nonexistent wind.

The old wizard stood, slowly making his way back around his desk. Harry followed.

"Good, then I need not explain its particulars to you," the old wizard said.

Opening the doors of his cabinet, Dumbledore tapped his wand over a basin on the center shelf, allowing the string to detach from the tip and settle into the basin; swimming through the liquid and lighting it as it twisted and turned.

"This is my memory," Dumbledore explained, "Of the night the prophecy concerning you was spoken. I was witness to it, which is fortunate, as else we would have had to request the copy of the prophecy which the Ministry holds."

Harry nodded absently, staring down at the average looking basin with interest. His brother had told him of his experience with this branch of magic, but it hardly looked like anything remarkable.

"Look inside, Harry," Dumbledore directed, "Look closely."

And Harry was spiraling down, a smoky, dimly lit room and a quiet table in the corner rising up around him from out of nothing. There was Dumbledore, looking a bit younger than the man he'd just been talking with, and Professor Trelawney sat across from him, along with two others.

Harry moved closer, listening intently as they spoke.

_

* * *

_

He pushed the door open with a clack and stepped inside. His bare feet padded softly on the floor, one slow, reluctant step after the other. They paused, and then began again, slapping quickly now, and quicker until he was running.

"_Otousan!" He gasped quietly, kneeling beside the crumpled form, the knees of his pants soaking through with cold blood._

_With a hand on the man's back, he gently coaxed the stiff shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. He released a small sound of disdain and stood again, setting his feet in a wide stance and clutching the still form with both hands. He had to exert a considerable effort to fold it back, but finally he managed to straighten the stiff form._

_His eyes fell on the short sword still clutched in the man's hands. His breath caught in his throat, and then he let it out again. His shoulders sagged and he turned away._

_His bare feet slapped against the floor again as he fled from the room._

Finally, he mustered enough chakra to lash out, the haunting memory vanishing from his eyes to be replaced by the cruelly smiling face of Voldemort, dark eyes glinting with red madness.

Kakashi breathed in heavy gasps, his heart beating heavily in his chest as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"So, that's how he died," the man standing over him said thoughtfully. "The next best thing to my own hand, I suppose."

He dropped his face to hover in front of the young Jounin's, forcing eye contact to be reestablished.

"But as fascinating as it is to see, you know that isn't what I want," Voldemort said, his voice soft and his tone a mockery of gentleness.

Kakashi held his gaze with one hard eye. "I won't give you what you want," he said harshly, "I won't betray my village." He had dozens of memories and thoughts he could pull up at a moment's noticed, and while they weren't things he wanted the wizard to be privy to, the single-minded concentration Kakashi was able to recall them with did seem to be effective at keeping him from viewing the more sensitive information he wanted.

The dark haired man smiled and straightened. "Ah, Kakashi," he began with a familiarity that made Kakashi want nothing more than to pull the tongue free from his mouth. "I have nothing against your village. As a matter of fact, I would very much like to visit it myself, one day. Pay my respects to your father—a good man, Kakashi, and a dear friend of mine."

Kakashi rolled his eyes.

Voldemort chuckled. "Yes, perhaps _friend_ isn't the word for it, after all. No matter, we shouldn't let his memory stand between the two of us, Kakashi. After all, we can provide much help to each other, and you do need help, don't you, Kakashi?"

"…" Kakashi regarded the man dryly for a moment before responding, "Yes, actually, I could use a little help with these ropes."

The man laughed loudly. "I see," he said lightly, "Well, perhaps I can help you with that if you provide me with the information I want. It isn't much—certainly nothing that will jeopardize your village. You won't really be telling, anyway, just remembering. No one can blame you for that."

Kakashi looked away pointedly.

Voldemort's expression twisted into a smirk at the Jounin's futile attempt at avoidance. "Look at me, Kakashi… Remember for me, what lies at the farthest reaches of your little world…"

* * *

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

It was the same, horrible voice that he'd heard in the hallways, pouring out of the petite woman's mouth in the middle of her interview with Dumbledore. Her words had barely ended when the world began to dissolve around him and he was pulled back into reality, standing over the pensieve with Dumbledore at his side.

Harry shook his head in disbelief, "That can't be it. That isn't about me."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrow, "But it is, Harry. You were born at the end of July… Voldemort even marked you himself when he tried to kill you as an infant," he waved towards the teen's forehead in explanation.

Harry's hand went up, as though to cover his scar, but his fingers only met the cool metal of his hitai-ate. He shook his head again, "No—but my father was Hatake Sakumo. Even if he was at this school once… he can't possibly have _defied_ Voldemort three times during that."

"Mm… That is something that I have thought deeply on since I realized James Potter was not your biological father," Dumbledore admitted, "I wondered whether the prophecy might have been referring to someone else; but there was no one—not after what you did that night. So it had to be you."

"There was an incident, when Sakumo was staying at this school," Dumbledore added, "As a young man, Mr. Riddle approached me, seeking a job as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. But, it seems, he was after something else during his time here. He had spent some time near one of the bathrooms on the third floor, you see, and according to Sakumo he opened some sort of passage.

"Your father followed him, and prevented him from doing whatever it was he wanted to do down there," Dumbledore concluded, "That was undoubtedly the first time they met, and Mr. Riddle was furious when he left."

Harry frowned, "Then what about the other two times?"

"Sakumo was the only shinobi your Hokage was willing to send to our aid when we made requests," Dumbledore said, "I believe he decided to keep our world a secret from the rest of his people, but since your father had been here once before, he was allowed to return—if only because we paid well for his services. He returned only twice before Voldemort's fall. On the first occasion, shortly after Tom Riddle had taken up the mantle of Voldemort and was becoming a threat in the wizarding world, we hired Sakumo to help get rid of the problem. We thought the threat had been averted then, but the man Sakumo killed turned out to be a decoy, although we didn't discover as much for several years. The final time was when he was hired by James Potter."

"So stopping his plan at Hogwarts and killing his decoy," Harry supplied, "But what did he do during the final visit that _defied_ Voldemort?"

"He didn't directly challenge the man's power," Dumbledore agreed, "Perhaps simply being there and giving James the chance to fight was his act of defiance." He looked the boy squarely in the eye as he continued, "However, I believe it is more likely that his final act of defiance was creating you, Harry—the ultimate weapon to be used against him, as it were."

Harry scowled, "Getting someone pregnant doesn't seem like much of an act of defiance to me."

"As far as I am aware, there is nothing else that it could be," the old wizard said dismissively, "And you _are_ the one from the prophecy, of that there can be no doubt."

Harry thought for a moment. "The power—it must be talking about chakra. I don't really need magic at all to kill him, so we can just go after him now. We'll kill him, save Kakashi, and then you can destroy the rest of the Horcruxes so he can't come back again."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "Harry, I don't think it's that simple. If the power were chakra, Sakumo, Kakashi, or any other ninja could easily destroy him. The prophecy clearly named _you_ specifically."

* * *

Kakashi stared up at the darkness shrouding the ceiling, feeling the ropes still tightly binding him. Voldemort was a careful man—more careful than Dumbledore had been in the beginning.

Not once in the last four days had the ropes been loosened. In fact, no one other than Voldemort had gotten within a few feet of him, and Voldemort only approached when he had drained himself fighting off magical attacks that were never meant to be fought off with chakra and forced him to expend far more energy than a normal attack of the same sort would entail.

He hadn't been left alone, either. Not even when he pretended to sleep. He was exhausted, hungry and desperate. His guard had chosen the perfect moment to be distracted.

Flexing his muscles slightly, Kakashi reached for his chakra reserves and wondered again why they were so sluggish in refreshing. Even half-starved he expected more than he found waiting for him now, but it would be plenty for the moment, and he didn't have time to work out the mystery. His guard probably wouldn't be gone long.

Carefully, he bolstered his muscles; even the weak strings of muscle growing back in his right arm. He slowly began exerting pressure on the ropes; more and more until—_snap!_—he was free.

He shook himself of the broken ropes and eased himself to his feet. His legs wobbled underneath him for a second and then he was moving. He pressed himself against the wall and waited, listening to his heart beating in his chest—only a bit faster than normal with the help of an exhilarating wash of adrenalin.

The door opened and Kakashi reacted instantly, hands grabbing the wizard by the head as he entered, jerking the neck sharply, and dragging him further into the room at the same time.

He eased the body to the floor to muffle the impact and pilfered the wand from his body. He wasn't a wizard, but until he found something sharp, a sturdy stick would be better than nothing.

He silently moved into the empty hall, shutting the door behind him and then regarding his right hand with appreciation. Although it was far from back to normal, it at least had the motor functions to provide a bit of spinal support and shut a door; which was more than he could have said a week ago.

The house wasn't large as far as mansions went. Kakashi had been in one where the halls stretched for a kilometer or more before turning. Better still, a line of windows spread down the hall once he turned the corner.

He wasn't high—maybe on a third floor—and he easily forced a window open. It hit the sill with a jarring _thunk_ which made the Jounin tense, but no one came running and he slipped through uneventfully, dropping to the earth below.

Kakashi was instantly on guard, because he didn't recognize the grounds around him. Wherever he was, it wasn't the Death Eater stronghold he had scoped out in Little Hangleton.

Despite his misgivings, Kakashi found the darkest shadows by instinct, and was moving swiftly and silently away from the house at almost the same moment that he landed. It was a chilly night and Kakashi briefly mourned the loss of his warm cloak as he ran.

Then he realized that it wasn't just a bit chilly—it was downright cold; and getting colder. Eyes widening in alarm, Kakashi quickly shoved up his hitai-ate, Sharingan turning heavenward apprehensively, searching for what he hoped he wouldn't find.

Three dementors were gliding towards him, their blurry, barely substantial forms already turning the apprehension into a cold weight settled in his gut.

Kakashi took a step back, but only one—that would lead him back to Voldemort's stronghold, and wasn't a viable option for retreat. Frowning, he forced the fingers of his right hand, which were still an unpleasant shade of puce and tingling distractingly, to move through the seals for a basic jutsu.

It was a clumsy process that took far longer than Kakashi thought it should have, but a plume of fire finally leapt out at the magical creatures.

Kakashi didn't see whether it had hit its mark, because a sudden sharp pain cut into his gut and he was doubled over, heaving dry and coughing with enough force that it felt like his insides would be ejected from his body any second. And then he was retching again, too out of breath to even think about resisting the urge.

The flood of crimson splattering the ground between his hands told him that something was very wrong, but there was nothing he could do, coughing and heaving until his body finally collapsed on him from the stress. His abused lungs struggled to breathe, but still somehow managed to find the energy to force out another harsh cough.

"So, it is finally beginning, is it?"

Kakashi recognized Voldemort's voice, but he hadn't noticed his approach.

"You will die very soon, Kakashi Hatake," the man said coolly. "The others were like this, too, you know, before they died. That fool, Dumbledore, would undoubtedly tell you there is no cure—but I can help you, if we act quickly."

Kakashi's eyes rolled in his head to stare blearily at the man, unable to find the strength to even glare.

"I won't do it for nothing, of course," Voldemort said casually, "I want your help in return."

The Jounin's eyes narrowed. He coughed again, but managed to force his heavy tongue and raw throat to work together. "What do you want?"

"Nothing your principles should prevent you from giving," Voldemort supplied innocuously, "All I want is for you to speak with a friend of mine."

"… How will you cure me?" Kakashi questioned cautiously.

"The only way you can be cured," Voldemort responded, staring straight into the young man's eyes. He smiled and his eyes shone with a red gleam in the silver light of the moon. "I will send you home."


	25. Mission Start

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: If I owned _Harry Potter_ or _Naruto_, I probably wouldn't have to work another day of my life--and so my updates wouldn't be interrupted so often. Obviously, I don't and they are.

Augh, this longer than I ever expected to get up, but I'm pretty happy with how it finally turned out. I still feel like I should apologize... I never should have said I could get it up so early--I completely forgot about everything following my trip. The last week has been chaos, and that's my only excuse. The next couple of weeks look a little better, so I'll aim for September 1 for chapter 26. As always, check my profile for news if things don't go as smoothly as planned. There should be a lot to look forward to in the next chapter...

A quick note on the theory of verbal/nonverbal magic. It seems to me that nonverbal magic takes a good deal of mental discipline. If you look at the people who use it in canon (Dumbledore, Snape, and probably Voldemort, most notably) they're all people who are skilled at Legilimency/Occlumency, which we know take a great deal of mental discipline. Also, it's not taught in Hogwarts until year 6 (and even then it's hardly learned), supporting the idea that it requires a more mature and controlled mind. So keep that in mind, I guess, and I'll say more about it later if you need me to.

Thanks for everyone who reviewed chapter 24, I hope you enjoy 25!

Special thanks to Stalker of Stories for pointing out my typo...

Chapter 25 – Mission Start

Something squelched under the sole of Harry's sandal, but the teen steadfastly ignored it, continuing his march until he came to the wide open window at the side of the tower. He peered out, green eyes scanning the horizon grimly.

The pale sky was empty of anything more interesting than a few long, wispy clouds—just like it had been the last dozen times he had checked. Scowling, Harry turned his back on the window, lifting his eyes to the roosting owls in the rafters above him. One particularly brave, black-feathered bird ruffled itself, feathers erecting to look almost twice as large as usual, while the others shifted nervously under his gaze or fluttered around a bit.

Harry's scowl deepened.

The entire situation was beyond ridiculous. Every day his brother was missing made it that much more unlikely that they would ever find him again. Either Dumbledore didn't realize that or he simply didn't care.

Spinning on his heel, Harry paced back across the owlery, thinking furiously.

Waiting for Dumbledore's spies to find something couldn't be his only option—it simply wasn't working! It would take way too long for him to search all of England alone and by foot—and what if Voldemort's stronghold wasn't even in the same country? England looked _small_ compared to some of the other countries he'd seen in the Atlas.

Turning again, Harry paced back. He would have to take matters into his own hands. Dumbledore had been overlooking Snape's connection to Voldemort for too long—a simple interrogation would probably clear everything up in the most efficient manner.

Harry cringed. Then again, even Kakashi hadn't been able to get information out of Snape, and while Harry hated the man, he doubted he would have more luck in interrogation than a Jounin trained by ANBU. Still, it was the only option he had, and he had to _try_.

Harry stopped in his tracks, something crunching under his heel, staring vacantly at the horizon through the window. There might be someone else who could help him.

Abruptly, the teen turned, taking a few quick steps towards the door, only to stop in his tracks again when it opened in front of him.

"Harry!" Hermione burst inside, looking cheeks red and brown eyes soft with worry, "We heard about what happened; I'm so sorry! And _where_ have you _been_? I've been looking _everywhere_ for you!"

"I've been around," Harry replied, frowning, and struggled a little to understand what the girl was talking about—what did she have to be sorry for? "I don't see how it's any of your _business_. I'm not even missing classes." This was only because classes hadn't started up again, yet, but the point still stood.

The day before there had been a memorial for Professor Vector and two students who had died in the attack, and the train out of Hogsmeade was scheduled to leave in just a few hours—to take the students who wouldn't be continuing their education at Hogwarts home. Classes weren't set to continue until things had settled down a little.

"Are you leaving, then?" Harry asked, frowning.

"No," Hermione replied firmly, "I'm staying on… My parents are muggles—this is the only way I can learn about magic."

"Is magic worth getting yourself killed over?" Harry asked grimly.

Hermione bit her lip, but she didn't have the chance to respond.

"Hermione!" A loud voice was muffled through the door, "Is he up there?"

Harry frowned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You brought someone with you?" He asked in a harsh undertone—Hermione _never_ brought anyone with her when they met to talk. Not that there was anyone else who would _want_ to talk to him.

"Hermione!" The voice repeated, accompanied this time by the heavy _thump-thump_ of feet on stairs.

Hermione's cheeks were tinged with pink, her face twisted miserably. "I'm sorry, Harry, but he insisted and he wouldn't leave me alone!"

Harry's eyes snapped from the girl to the door as a second figure burst through it. His eyes narrowed.

"Weasley," he greeted coolly. He hadn't seen much of the red-head since Christmas and he'd meant to keep it that way.

Surprisingly, Ron didn't snap back. He looked between the two Gryffindors and blood slowly began to gather in his face, first reddening his ears, then everything else.

"Ah—Hatake…" he glanced around again and let himself fully inside, shutting the door behind him. He glanced briefly at Harry, and then lowered his eyes to the ground. "I—er—I wanted to—to thank you," he muttered. "I mean, for helping Fred and George and—" his words faltered briefly before he plowed on. "And I'm sorry for that junk I said before, okay? You're a good guy. Um—yeah, just thanks."

Harry stared at him blankly throughout, watching with some measure of clinical fascination as the red-head's face continued to turn an even brighter shade of red until it was almost the same shade as his bright hair by the time he had concluded. The Genin held his silence for several seconds, watching his roommate squirm.

At last, Harry replied. "I didn't do it for you—I don't want your gratitude."

Somehow, Ron's face managed to find an even brighter shade of red and imitated it. His brown eyes flew up, and he blurted, "I know! That's why I've got to say it! If you were just doing it to get on people's good sides, then… but you don't even _care_ what we think and you _still _saved their necks—you're not really like I thought at all… I owe you one, okay?"

Harry sighed. "I said I don't want your gratitude—that includes favors. It's fine, alright?"

Ron opened his mouth to argue his point further, but Hermione interceded, changing the subject loudly. "What are you doing up here, anyway, Harry? You've been scaring all the younger kids from sending out their post."

"I was waiting for a letter," Harry supplied, glancing in the direction of the window. "Dumbledore promised to tell me when his spies find out where my brother is being held."

"Was?" Hermione repeated eagerly, "So did they find something already?"

Harry shook his head. "Dumbledore probably doesn't even care about it. He's cutting his losses. Kakashi might have been useful to him in the past, but he was close to finding out how to get us home. Dumbledore probably thinks he'll be able to keep me under control more easily with him out of the way." He stopped abruptly, pressing his lips together in a grim line. It would be harder to do anything against the wizard without his brother, but Dumbledore would be unpleasantly surprised if he thought that Harry would roll over and do his dirty work just because of that.

"So what are you going to do?" Ron asked, frowning—his cheeks were still pink.

Harry frowned back at him, considering. He didn't like the red-head, but Weasley's brash and frank nature wasn't one that could be manipulated into espionage easily—he didn't lie well. As far as security risks went, Hermione was a much more likely source for a leak than Ron, and whatever his brother said, Harry trusted her. He needed _someone_ to trust.

Slowly, he nodded. "I'm not going to sit back and do what I'm told anymore. Before he was—captured—Kakashi identified a person living in Hogsmeade that might be helpful in this situation."

For a moment, neither Gryffindor responded, mulling silently over his words. Then, abruptly, they both replied at once.

"I'll go with you!"

Harry blinked. He frowned, "What?"

"You can't very well go against You-Know-Who by yourself, can you?" Hermione prompted, "It's just like you said. He's a wizard problem, we should take care of him ourselves… or at least help."

Quickly, Harry shook his head. "No. No way. I'm not going to drag around a couple of brats. You guys would just be deadweight in a battle situation—and I don't even want to think about how you would make a mess of infiltration and extraction."

"Deadweight!" Ron repeated angrily, his face turning a whole new shade of red.

"Ron!" Hermione interceded again, "He's just trying to get us angry because he doesn't want us to come. Harry," she turned to face the ninja again, "You don't have to protect us. We _want_ to go with you; we know it will be dangerous."

Harry scowled. "I'm not _trying_ to protect you," he growled, "What I'm saying is that you two would be useless to me out there."

For a moment, Ron scowled, apparently ready to give another biting retort, but it slowly softened into a confused frown. Then it changed again, relaxing into clarity. "Oh, I get it." He glanced at Hermione, "Hermione's right, mate, you don't have to worry about us if we volunteer."

In frustration, Harry slammed a fist into one of the wooden supports next to him, splintering the entire thing with a loud crack. There was a flurry of chaos overhead as the owls startled, hooting protests and diving out the windows. Harry glowered at the two teens, who stared back at him with wide, startled eyes.

"You don't _get_ it," he growled. "Neither of you," he added, looking between them both. "Voldemort"—they shivered at the name—"is dangerous. His attack on the castle left people dead—_our_ side _and _his. He's not going to care if he has to kill a few extra school children that he wasn't counting on."

He quickly plowed on when Hermione looked likely to interrupt. "And it isn't _about_ your protection. If I thought your deaths would save my brother, I'd throw them away in a heartbeat. But you're more likely to get him _killed_ than saved."

"This is about the _mission_," Harry concluded, "I don't really care what happens to Voldemort, although by now I'd like to see him dead just to get it over with, but in the big picture I'm really only concerned about getting Kakashi-niisan back. You two have no combat experience, and I'm willing to bet that the closest you've come to danger is when Lupin-sensei brought in that boggart to class. Compared to me, you're worse than rookies. I've trained for things like this for the last six years and you—you're just a couple of _civilians_."

Ron and Hermione couldn't say anything. The girl looked like she was about to cry, and even the boy looked a little abashed and embarrassed. They flinched at the way Harry said the last word—he might as well have cursed.

Harry thought hard for a moment, staring at the two glum faces before adding, "Shinobi Law Seventeen – Never take a civilian into shinobi business… it translates something like that. If you really want to help, stay here. Maybe Dumbledore will send me something useful after all, and you can send it on to me."

The two remained silent as he shouldered his way past them. Hermione was the first to find her voice, as the door swung shut behind the Genin.

"B-but…"

* * *

Harry crossed over the lake, stepping quickly over the recently thawed surface, careful to pay close attention to his surroundings. He wasn't quite sure what all lived under the water, but Kakashi had insisted it was dangerous, so it probably was. In _Hogwarts, A History_—the book Lupin had given him for his birthday ages ago—he'd read something about mermaids and an oversized squid. Neither seemed particularly dangerous, so he assumed Kakashi had run into something else that the book did not mention.

He wasn't completely surprised, therefore, when something about the size of a mace launched out of the water at him. He _was_ surprised to find that it wasn't a tentacle or a vaguely humanesque merperson. Instead it was a yellow eyed, green scaled fish easily as long as his arm with a gaping mouth that unhinged and looked large enough to swallow a young child whole.

Harry jumped out of the way, drawing a kunai and twisting his body in midair as he heard the soft _sploosh_ of the water behind him. More of the strange, large fish were flying towards him. Throwing his kunai, Harry struck the first fish down—it fell limply back to the water, bleeding red. The second he met with a kick, drawing his leg up and planting the bottom of his sandal straight at the incoming face.

A sudden pain blossomed in his foot, and the fish fell away from him. Harry's eyes widened in alarm when he hit the surface of the water and sank right through like a rock.

Swearing, he sucked in air before his head was swallowed by the waves and struggled to enforce control over his chakra again, entirely unsure how he could have lost control in the first place. Sluggishly, he felt it respond to his command—too sluggishly because submerged in the water his enemies were more dangerous than before.

Gritting his teeth, Harry raised his arms; the left to block and the right to strike the fish away from him, a horizontal hooking punch jarring the creature enough that it's slanted, needle like teeth tore off of him.

Harry felt the drain this time, his chakra surging towards the blood pluming around his arm. Biting his lip, Harry kicked against the water, just managing to avoid another attack.

He glanced around the murky water, grimacing to find at least two pairs of glowing yellow eyes closing in on him—and who knew how many more were swimming in the murky water beyond his sight.

He kicked harder, forcing his suddenly tired limbs to carry him faster, dodging from side to side and shooting off kunai when he had to. Everything moved slower—his weapons, his punches, his kicks—everything except the fish. Bursting through the surface, Harry made for the shore, gasping a quick breath and struggling with his own chakra once more.

Still, his chakra seemed slow and drained, and the fish were closing in. Harry reached for his kunai pouch, in the process his fingers brushing the long, slender pouch that held his senbon. He paused, eyes narrowing, and quickly slipped his fingers inside his senbon holder, drawing out the wand that he'd taken to storing there.

There was a difference between jutsu and magic—and that was that magic didn't rely on chakra, which meant, he hoped, that it would react just fine in this situation.

His mind raced, exploring the possibilities as he kicked hard, barely keeping distance between him and the chakra-sucking fish. Slowly, he smirked—that would have to do it.

Pointing, he swished the tip in a complicated semi-circle, cut down, and reversed into an opposite semi-circle.

_Depulso!_

The simple banishing charm had an unanticipated effect. Like Harry had intended, the fish were buffeted in the water and thrown away from him, but the spell pushed at the water, as well, attempting to throw it back, and simultaneously rocketing Harry backwards—up and towards the shore.

He flailed, barely keeping hold on his wand as he twisted around to orientate himself, managing to add a few strokes and regain equilibrium just as his feet reached the sandy bottom of the shallow beach at the edge of the lake. He stumbled a few rapid steps as he reined his momentum in, and stalked the rest of the way out of the water, smiling despite his soaked clothes and heavy breaths.

He regarded his wand briefly before shoving it back into his senbon pouch—who knew magic could be useful in a situation like that?—then looked around, smile widening when he noticed the castle looming over him across the massive wall that surrounded it by land.

He'd made it, at least, and next time he'd know how to fight those fish from the start.

Pulling off his shirt, Harry wringed it out as well as he could and drew out his medical kit, frowning as water drained off of it. Inside, the bandages were dry, protected by waterproof sealing.

He bandaged the still bleeding incisions on his arm quickly, a little worried about the purplish color his skin had turned around the injuries, then returned his shirt to his chest and pulled up his mask. Finally, he turned to face Hogsmeade village, nestled a little further down the hilly landscape.

* * *

It took two sweeps through the village to find the Hog's Head, a small doorway off a rundown back road. He stepped inside with just a touch of apprehension, eyes darting around the dimly lit room immediately inside.

A pair of hooded faces turned to stare at him, but the other few patrons didn't show much sign of interest. Harry tugged at his mask a little self-consciously. Then his eyes landed on the old man watching from behind the counter. There was a definite family resemblance and Harry was quick to pick out the aging of the familiar features he'd seen in the picture in Dumbledore's office.

There was no question; it was him.

Harry made his way straight across, stopping at the bar directly in front of the man, a frown in his eyes.

Aberforth set aside a filthy rag to fully return his attention. "What'll you have, boy?"

"Information, Aberforth-san," Harry supplied without hedging. He wanted to get this over with. He wanted to get on his way—to find his brother.

The man scowled. "This is a pub, son. You want to talk, you order yourself a drink."

"I'm too young to drink," Harry excused, even though he'd had sake twice before. He didn't like it—it tasted a little too bitter and a little too rich at the same time. Kakashi and Tenzou both agreed that it was because he was too young to appreciate it.

"Pumpkin juice, then," Aberforth said, nonplussed. He turned his back and grabbed a glass from beneath the counter, moving down the length until he found the nonalcoholic beverage.

Harry waited silently for his return, looking around the bar again. The cloaked pair that had watched him enter had turned back to their own conversation, leaning low over their drinks as they murmured to one another. A man entertaining a woman at a corner table was blowing thick streams of smoke into the air—his guest appeared unimpressed.

A glass clattered on the counter in front of him and Harry turned. The tall glass was only filled halfway with juice, thick, orange-tinted foam filling the remainder. The barman watched him carefully, expression expectant, until he took a tentative sip. It was a little warm for Harry's preference.

The old man picked up his rag again and returned to wiping down the counter—Harry noticed he didn't seem to be cleaning it any.

"You are Aberforth Dumbledore," Harry prompted, even though he was already sure that he was.

"Depends," the man grumbled in response, not looking up. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm Hatake Harry," Harry supplied, watching for the man's response carefully.

Aberforth's hand paused briefly before continuing its motions. His eyes were on Harry this time, though, and the blue eyes, dulled by the foggy glasses he wore, glittered with interest. "Hatake Harry, is it?" He grunted, "Read about you in the papers. Used to be Harry Potter, wasn't it? Caused quite a scandal when people found out you'd changed it."

Harry shrugged. "Yes, sir," he said, even though he was sure the man already knew that the answer.

"Well," the man set his rag aside completely and hunkered down, propping his elbows on the counter between them. "What's it the humble Aberforth Dumbledore can do for our prestigious Mr. Hatake?"

Harry took the question in stride and was quick to answer. "I want to know what your brother knows—about Voldemort and my home."

Aberforth raised a shaggy eyebrow. "And what makes you think that I would know that? You should be asking Albus things like that."

"He's not at the school anymore," Harry said, "And you're his brother. He must have told you some things."

"I'm afraid my _brother_ and I don't get on very well," Aberforth replied grimly, "We never have and we probably never will. I don't know anything about where he picked you boys up."

Harry frowned, "But you do know about Voldemort."

"There are very few wizards who don't, boy," Aberforth replied, "I can't guarantee it's what Albus knows, but I have—sources—of my own."

Harry raised an eyebrow when he didn't continue, feeling a little impatient. "And?"

"And I don't see how I should tell you," the man replied, scowling. "I tell you and you'll probably run off after him like a bloody fool. Look at yourself, boy, no matter what my brother has said to you, you don't have any business getting yourself involved in this."

"I don't _want_ to get involved," Harry muttered irritably, "But I don't have a choice anymore."

Aberforth started to protest, but Harry cut him off.

"Voldemort has my brother," he said darkly, "Maybe you can't appreciate it because you aren't close with yours, but Kakashi-niisan is all I have left and for years it's been just me and him. And even though he was really still just a kid, he took me in and did his best to help and protect me while I was growing up."

"I can't just leave him when _he_ really needs _me_," Harry concluded, jaw set stubbornly under his fabric mask.

The old man sighed and grabbed Harry's glass, even though he'd hardly drank any of it. "How's a refresher?" He asked, moving back down the counter again to refill the glass.

Harry frowned, "Are you going to tell me what I need to know or not? I'm going to go after him either way, if that's what you're worried about, but it will be easier with some help beforehand."

"… How late can you stay?" Aberforth asked, setting the full glass aside and peering across at him.

"How late do you want me to stay?" Harry asked.

"The pub closes at midnight," was all the old wizard replied.

Harry considered, and then stood, his stool scraping against the rough floorboards. "I'll come back, then."

* * *

The world moved around him. At some point, he'd been moved back into his room inside. His head throbbed and everything inside of him felt weak. His chakra felt constantly drained—like there was a sluggish draw on his already tapped sources.

Kakashi wasn't entirely sure _when_ it had gotten so bad. He had been feeling drained and more tired than usual for a while, but it had been easy to assume it was a side effect of the potions Madam Pomfrey was giving him for his arm.

He was beginning to think it might all have been related to the mysterious illness the last team of ninja had contracted—something genetic, perhaps.

A sudden wave of nausea overtook him and he rolled weakly up on his left shoulder, heaving dryly for several long, miserable seconds. Then he heard the latch on the door and he forced a painful swallow, staring blearily as it swung open.

Kakashi recalled seeing the thin man that entered before—the scars on his chin looked vaguely like the long scratches made from desperate fingernails. He was sure he didn't want to know how the man had gotten them.

This time, the thin man was carrying a steaming goblet in both hands. He walked slowly in until he was about halfway across the room, then he stopped. Stooping, he set the mug on the floor, never taking his eyes from Kakashi.

"To ease the pain," the man's voice was weak and lisping, "Our lord wishes to leave very soon." He didn't linger, standing and backing out the door with the same slow, steady gait with which he had entered.

Kakashi stared after him for several seconds, unmoving. He scowled, and his eyes dropped to the goblet—water had condensed on the outside in tiny droplets.

Abruptly, he lurched in the direction of the glass. As much as he loathed Voldemort and his Death Eaters, he had found the lot of them to be more honest than Dumbledore and his people had ever been. And if he was going to be able to do anything, he first needed to ease the sensations assaulting his body.

He caught the goblet in a clumsy, two-handed movement that sent a good portion of the chilly potion splashing over the rim. He paused, staring at the murky brown surface and considering the ramifications if it were some sort of poison. Voldemort probably wouldn't kill him until he'd gotten what he wanted or found another way to obtain it, but he wouldn't put mind-altering drugs past him.

As though in response to his doubts, the pounding in his head redoubled and his gut clenched painfully, his limbs tingling with the promise of fire. The Jounin groaned—he'd never feared death, but he'd never considered _this_ outcome. He was nothing more than an invalid; weak, sick, pathetic.

_This_ wasn't the death of a warrior—he couldn't let it end this way.

With a grimace, he poured the potion haphazardly down his throat.

* * *

Harry's face scrunched up in distaste and he threw glowering eyes on the pile of garbage heaped haphazardly outside Number Nine. It was disgusting—he didn't even want to know how long it had been there, but by the way it reeked he'd guess two weeks.

It wasn't the kind of place Harry imagined Voldemort would use as his stronghold. From what he knew of the man, he was arrogant and egotistical, so it seemed out of character for him to live in such a dump.

Of course, that was the perfect cover. No one would think to look for him in a place like this. A grungy street with run down houses and unkempt lawns—it was a perfect cover.

Still, Harry thought he should have some security, at least. So far no one seemed to realize he was around. The dim, yellow lights muted by window shades never wavered, casting doubt on the possibility that the neighbors were sentries. The sky was dark and cloudy, but he hadn't seen anything unnatural flying through it, so there couldn't be an aerial defense.

It was possible Voldemort was overconfident enough to believe that no one would ever find him here.

Harry stopped, frowning in confusion and looking back at the house he had just passed—Number Eleven. The next house was Number Thirteen. Number Twelve had been skipped altogether. Maybe there was more to Voldemort's hideout than he'd thought.

Glancing furtively up and down the empty street again, Harry dashed across the cracked pavement and ducked behind an overflowing trash can.

He frowned up at the two houses.

"_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place,"_ Aberforth had told him, _"I have it on good sources that there's something there—I can't say for sure that it's Voldemort's headquarters… but if it's not, then why is it so well hidden?"_

Harry's frown only deepened as something appeared between the two houses. It looked like a small sphere of metal, being squeezed out of some invisible hole in the air. Slowly, the houses on either side shifted, moving away from it as it expanded—not the sphere, but something attached to it.

The Genin's eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at. It was a door; with a silver handle and a twisted silver knocker, and around it bricks were squeezing into existence—then filthy windows. An entire house was forming in between the yards of Number Eleven and Number Thirteen.

Harry waited until everything stopped moving and the complete house had settled cozily into its place, then he moved cautiously, staying low to the ground and gripping a kunai in one hand.

He crossed the yard quickly, his sandaled feet silent on the ground, the hairs on the back of his neck standing erect.

Suddenly, Harry felt quite out of his league. Voldemort could hide entire houses with magic, and what could he do? A few simple spells and curses with a small array of jutsu that seemed to pale in comparison. And the worst part was that Harry was now certain Voldemort knew he was here.

The man was taunting him—he was _inviting_ him inside by revealing his headquarters like that. He was clearly confident of his superiority, which meant it was likely his brother hadn't managed to escape. And if a Jounin couldn't do anything against such a powerful wizard—what chance did a Genin have?

Pressing himself against the lower half of the door, Harry paused, breathing heavy and heart pounding in his chest. He had to calm down before he did anything. He'd be more useless than a civilian if he let his nerves get the best of him.

Dumbledore had implied there was something he could do that would subdue Voldemort that no one else could manage. Even if he wasn't a Jounin, or a well-learned wizard, he had to have _some_ sort of advantage over Voldemort.

Slowly, he forced his heartbeat back to normal and managed a few even breaths.

This was it—he had to get to his brother.

Snaking a hand up, Harry curled his fingers around the handle and turned it slowly. The cold metal twisted easily in his grasp and Harry forced his face into a mask of calm. He could do this—he didn't have a choice.

Counting to three in his head, Harry slammed the door open, kunai up and a shout on his lips—only to be met with an empty room.

The teen's momentum carried him forward an extra step or two before he came to a stop, staring around himself at the oddly furnished hall in confusion. He didn't have time to wonder, however, because all of a sudden someone started shrieking at the far end of the hall.

Jumping, Harry spun, and his kunai had left his hand even before he realized that the screaming was coming from a large, stern looking woman in a portrait. The blade hit her square in the forehead and her face darkened, red with anger, her keening reaching higher decibels.

"WHY YOU MONSTROUS LITTLE HALF-BLOODED—" her face contorted into all sorts of ugly shapes as she screamed, burning black eyes fixed on the young Genin.

All around him other portraits were starting to scream, their wordless groans and keening shrieks almost drowning out the woman's. Almost—but not quite.

"—COMING INTO _MY_ HOUSE AND—"

Harry's head spun, his temples throbbing in protest, but he still managed to take note of the movement behind him. Spinning again, Harry's confusion doubled when two men ran into the room—barely glancing at him as they ran down the hall towards the insane portrait.

"—A DISGRACE! I WILL NOT STAND FOR—"

He wasn't sure what was going on, but the two men—Lupin and Sirius if he'd seen right—were tugging on the heavy curtains hanging on either side of the portrait, and seemed to be having a hard time of it.

Finally, with a last tug, the curtains slid together, and the woman's voice was immediately muffled.

The man who looked like Sirius continued to hold the thick red curtains in place, looking at the man that looked like Lupin over his shoulder—he said something, but Harry couldn't hear it over all of the noise the remaining portraits were making.

The man nodded, and drew his wand. Harry immediately tensed, but the man still seemed to be ignoring him. Instead he shot a bolt of red light at the nearest portrait. Immediately, the black-haired man inside froze, and the man continued down the line, stunning one after another until a deafening silence fell suddenly over the hall.

Harry's ears were still ringing.

The two men finally turned towards him. The one that looked like Lupin appeared tired and drawn, but smiled weakly. The one that looked like Sirius grinned lopsidedly and patted the curtains behind him.

"You know, Harry, most people try to avoid upsetting my mother when they come to visit," he said nonchalantly, voice toned low as he crossed the room towards the boy.

Harry frowned, looking between the portrait and the man, confusion tugging on his eyebrows. "Sirius?" He asked uncertainly, gripping his remaining kunai tightly, "I don't understand—what are you doing here?"

The man frowned slightly, "I told you I'd be here, didn't I? This is my house—my parents' house, at least, but seeing as I'm the last Black… you know, conversation will be better downstairs; we don't want them to wake up again, do we?"

Harry shook his head, still regarding the men uncertainly. "Aberforth-san said this house belonged to Voldemort," he said warily.

Lupin frowned. "Aberforth knows this is Sirius' house," he said, "Are you sure you understood him right?"

Sirius snorted, "That old coot. He probably said that just to get you to come to us instead—and I'm glad that he did. Harry, what were you doing looking for Voldemort on your own?" Before Harry could answer, Sirius cut him off, "Wait—not here—downstairs!" And with that, he grabbed the handle of a door near the staircase; the one he and Lupin had burst through a moment before.

"How do I know you're really Sirius-san and Lupin-sensei?" Harry asked, taking a step away from the door warily. For a shinobi, it was easy to impersonate someone's appearance. Harry was sure wizards—especially wizards powerful enough to hide entire buildings—could do the same, somehow. At the very least, there was no evidence that they couldn't.

Sirius frowned and released an exasperated sigh, "Harry—"

"Sirius, hold on a minute," Lupin interrupted, placing a hand on the man's chest to keep him from approaching the tense teenager. He turned his attention back to Harry at Sirius' irritated huff. "Harry, what can we do to prove that we are who we say we are?"

"We shouldn't _have_ to prove anything," Sirius grumbled, "I'm going to kill Ab for saying that."

"Sirius, _please_," Lupin said, "Harry's concern is a legitimate one, even if Aberforth hadn't said anything about this place."

"Alright, alright," the man cast an anxious look back at the red curtain—it was quivering—"Can't we at least do this downstairs, though?"


	26. Meetings

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_... I'm not even completely sure that I own _myself_, anymore.

Here's chapter 26... there's some pretty big movement in this chapter, so if you were thinking about skipping straight to the next one, don't. We're still picking up steam. Thanks for all of your reviews, they're a great encouragement and fun to read, I really enjoy hearing your thoughts on all of this... even if they're not completely positive. Hope you enjoy chapter 26!

Along with this story, my real life's getting more busy than ever again with school starting and studying for officer tests, so I'm not sure if I'm really going to be able to make an update on September 16, but I'll do my best. (Don't be too surprised if it takes up to an extra week, though. Like I said, I've got a ton of more important things on my plate right now...)

Chapter 26 – Meetings

Lupin sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his dusty brown hair. "If we're going to confront Voldemort, especially on his own grounds, we need a plan, Harry," he said with exasperation.

"I have a plan," Harry retorted irritably. "We sneak onto the grounds, break in through a secondary entrance—a window, maybe—and try to find Kakashi-niisan without raising an alarm."

"That's not a plan," Lupin said dryly, "It's a hopeful sequence of events that we may or may not be able to make happen."

Harry scowled. "It's the best that I can come up with without even knowing where he's being held!"

"That's another thing," Sirius inserted, frowning. "How do you suggest we find out where your brother is in the first place? Even if you _had_ a better plan, it would be useless unless we're able to find him."

Harry's scowl deepened and he didn't answer, looking from the men to the ancient wooden table they'd gathered around after abandoning the entrance hall. One of the legs had been chipped off shorter than the others and the entire table leaned towards that corner, the surface rough with splinters, and the rusty red paint covering was worn and peeling. The rest of the kitchen wasn't much better off; everything was coated with a thick blanket of dust and cobwebs and the stone floor was cracked and splintered. The sink was piled high with grimy dishes and a steaming pot sat heavily on the stove.

Abruptly, Harry's eyes snapped back to Sirius, sharp and narrow. "Savage-san used to always use some kind of spell to find me when I got away from him at Hogwarts," he explained, "We can use that on Kakashi."

The Auror shook his head quickly. "First, _Locus Probo_ only works if you're already in close vicinity to the object or person you're searching for," he explained, "And, even if we did get close enough to use it, Voldemort undoubtedly has counter-spells in place to prevent the use of that sort of spell."

Harry scowled. "Well… There must be some way we can find him…" He was silent, frowning with thought for a few minutes. "Kakashi-niisan said there were Dementors in the sky around his headquarters. If we can find them, it should lead us right to him."

"The Ministry doesn't release that sort of information," Lupin countered tiredly, "Even if sightings have been reporting, we have no way of hearing about them."

"If they've been reported then there will be records about it somewhere," Harry said quickly, "We just have to go to the Ministry and find them."

"Harry, the security—"

Harry cut Sirius off, "What about the security? You're an Auror; are you saying you can't work things out to draw attention off of me and Lupin-sensei long enough for us to check a few files?" He demanded incredulously.

The man frowned. "Even if I could, Harry, it would be wrong for me to abuse the trust of my coworkers like that. You should understand about loyalty, at least."

Harry scowled again but didn't push the point. "We can start in the village Kakashi-niisan was investigating before, then. Little Hangleton, I think. He found a house that was probably used by Voldemort or his followers. We should be able to find it, too, if they're still there."

"Do you really think you can take on Voldemort like you are now?" Lupin asked incredulously, "You haven't even been at school for a year and he's one of the most powerful wizards to ever live."

"But there's something special about me, too," Harry insisted, even though he still wasn't sure he believed that there was, even after seeing the prophecy Trelawney had made before he was born. "I don't know what it said, exactly, but there was a prophecy—I'm meant to kill Voldemort—so there must be something."

The two wizards exchanged dubious glances.

"If you're too scared then you can stay here and I'll go by myself," Harry snapped crossly.

"We won't let you go by yourself, Harry," Sirius said tiredly.

"Let's at least get a map and see whereabouts this possible headquarters might be," Lupin suggested, standing with a loud screech of his chair.

The door slammed open and the three men looked up in surprise. Aberforth smirked at their expressions, his blue eyes bright behind smudged glasses.

"Hatake, good to see you made it, son," the old man acknowledged gruffly.

"Ab, what are you—" Sirius started, standing

"You sent me to the wrong place!" Harry interrupted angrily, on his feet only an instant after the Auror.

Aberforth shrugged, letting himself in and tossing his cloak on a rack near the door. "I figured lying was the only way I'd get you to come, boy. You can't go running off to fight Voldemort all by yourself—that would be idiotic."

Harry scowled, pressing his hands on the tabletop and leaning across to glare at the man. "_That's_ not your business."

"When you came to me for help it became my business," the man countered. "Now, if you're done pretending it's some grand insult to your honor, we can all sit down and discuss how we want to go about infiltrating the Hoffspalder Estate."

"Hoff-spalder?" Harry repeated uncertainly.

"That's what they call the place where your brother's being held," Aberforth said off handedly, pulling a fourth chair close to the table. "Now, we need to decide what we're going to do when we get there and how we're going to get—Kakashi, was it?—out safely."

* * *

"He said he doesn't want our help, Hermione," Ron said tiredly.

"Well, he lied, then," Hermione countered stiffly. "He does it all the time, you know, and most of the time you can't even tell. Besides, whether he wants it or not, he _needs_ our help. You don't think he can fight—You-Know-Who—by himself, do you?"

Ron grimaced, looking away before replying at length, "We don't even know where to start looking for him."

The girl didn't reply, continuing to shift around the contents of her bag silently. Ron frowned and sat up, pushing off the couch that he'd been sprawled across a moment earlier.

"I said we won't even be able to find him," he repeated loudly.

Hermione looked up to scowl at him. "I _heard_ what you said, Ronald," she snapped. Her tone lost its edge as she continued, "I don't exactly know how we're supposed to find him, either. He said he was going to talk to someone in Hogsmeade… so I guess we should start there." She hesitated, glancing furtively at Ron and then back at her bag before adding, "The biggest problem right now is finding a way out of the castle. Students aren't allowed to leave the grounds without supervision."

"Oh, that's easy," Ron excused with a dismissive wave of his hand. "There are secret passages, we can always use those. I just don't think they'll be of much use if we don't have any idea how to find Hatake once we get out… but if we find that guy he wanted to talk to, I guess…"

The girl frowned at him uncertainly. "Secret passages?" She echoed, "Isn't that dangerous? Where did you hear about them—what if someone catches us?"

"Isn't running after Hatake dangerous in the first place?" Ron demanded.

Hermione didn't respond, looking down with pink cheeks.

Ron shrugged, leaning back against the couch again and added, "Besides, we don't have to worry about being caught. You just worry about how we're going to find this guy in Hogsmeade—leave the castle to me."

* * *

"Where did you get that map?" Hermione was still pestering her classmate as they fumbled around in the darkness at the end of the hidden tunnel.

"Shush!" Ron hissed, "Do you want us to get caught?" He slunk silently further up the tunnel, arms stretched in front of him and searching. Over his shoulder he added, "Fred and George gave it to me."

The girl was silent, although Ron could imagine the disapproving frown on her face. She had to be the only Gryffindor in all of Hogwarts that didn't find his brothers' jokes and tricks funny. Ron continued to fumble around in the darkness for several seconds before finally—_thump!_

"Ow," the boy moaned. "I've found it," he added in a hoarse whisper, "Hermione, over here."

"This would be easier if we could use a light," Hermione grumbled sourly, following the boy's voice with arms stretched over her head for protection.

"This tunnel comes out in Honeyduke's store," Ron replied, wood scraping stone as he eased the overhead tunnel exit aside and climbed into an equally dark storage room. "We don't want to risk someone seeing the light after hours." Lowering his tone further he added, "I can see why Hatake thought you'd slow him down."

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed angrily.

"Never mind, it's this way!" Ron said quickly.

Hermione hurried after him, eyes glaring at the figure she could just barely make out as she tripped and stumbled through the dark, cluttered room. "How often do you _do_ this?" She demanded when she finally caught up to the boy, peering through the cracked open door at the top of a short flight of stairs. "You certainly seem to know your way around well enough."

"Don't worry, Hermione," Ron said with the air of someone humoring a moron, "I only use it for _emergencies_. The coast is clear, come on!"

"Emer—" Hermione had to cut herself off as she scurried after him into the store, pausing long enough to let the door fall gently back against its frame. "Emergencies!" She finished, turning back to face the boy only to have her jaw drop in horror.

"Ronald Weasley, what do you think you're _doing_?!" The girl demanded, voice shrill and unsteady even as hushed as it was as she watched her friend helping himself to a few of the items on the storeroom shelves.

The boy shot her an annoyed look, features deepened with the shadows from the pale silver light wafting through the large front windows. "I'm going to pay for it!" He defended harshly, "Merlin! What do you think I am?"

"But, you're not even—"

"Hermione—who knows how long it'll take us to find Hatake, right?" Ron cut in irritably, "You'll be thanking me for this when your stomach's growling and I've got the only chocolate covered gobsmacker to satisfy it."

"Is your stomach all you ever think about?" Hermione grumbled ungratefully. She let the subject drop reluctantly. "Hurry up, then. We should get out of here as soon as possible. What if someone sees?"

"Who's going to see?" Ron asked irritably, "It's not like people are flocking the streets this late." He stuffed his goods into his pockets and dropped a handful of coins on the counter before turning towards the girl. Hermione was already at the door, peering out into the empty street. "Okay, let's go."

Nodding, Hermione drew her wand and pointed it directly at the lock on the door. "_Alohamora_," she whispered, listening for the click of the lock before pushing the door open and slipping out. Ron was right behind her, nearly tripping over her feet in his haste.

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione huffed, shooting the boy an irritated look as the door shut behind him with a noisy clang.

Ron's face turned a little pink and he glowered back at her. "What? I was just supposed to get us here, right? Well, we're here already, so what's your brilliant plan for finding Hatake? Who's this person we're supposed to see?"

Hermione frowned and didn't answer right away. When she finally started her words were slow and carefully chosen, "Well… I think that—"

"I believe I can help you with that," A familiar voice interceded mildly.

Both teens turned slowly, eyes wide and words dead on their lips as they stared.

The old wizard smiled, "I couldn't help but overhear that you two are looking for young Mr. Hatake."

"P-Professor Dumbledore, sir!" Hermione blurted, face suddenly burning a bright shade of crimson. "I—I mean—we—!"

"It is quite alright—Ms. Granger, isn't it?" The girl nodded mutely, mouth still agape and eyes wide with fright. "I happen to be heading that way myself. Care to accompany me?" Shrewd blue eyes swept from one Gryffindor to the other expectantly.

* * *

Lupin squinted across the wide field between them and 17 Darvis—otherwise known as the Hoffspalder Estate. Everything was quiet and still except for a strange, flickering shadow a little over halfway between them and the manor. The man frowned and blinked hard, squinting at the area again.

"What _is_ that?" He finally asked in a hoarse whisper.

"You mean that shadow?" Sirius clarified.

"It isn't a shadow," Harry interceded, "It's crows. There's probably something—some_one_ dead out there."

The older wizards stared at the boy, but Harry's attention was completely fixed on the building on the far side of the field. He shifted to a more upright crouch, resting lightly on the balls of his feet.

"Let's go," he said, leaving no room for argument as he silently ran out across the field, looking like even more of a shadow than the crows.

"Harry!" Sirius snapped after him, quickly taking off in pursuit. Lupin was right behind him in a second, and Aberforth followed with a grunt, his own pace not quite as fast as the younger men's.

"Harry!" Sirius snapped again when they finally caught up to the boy almost halfway across the field. "What were you _thinking_? We agreed to stay together!"

"We are together," Harry retorted without sparing the man a glance. His eyes were already trying to look everywhere at once for any sign of their enemies—paying particularly close attention to the sky.

"We know you're anxious to rescue your brother," Lupin cut in, breathing heavily already, "But you need to think, Harry! Voldemort has already shown he has control over a formidable number of Dementors; what would you do if you ran into them and none of us were nearby to help?"

Harry frowned. That was an eventuality that he hoped would never come to pass. All three wizards had done what they could to try to teach him the repelling charm that was most effective against Dementors—just in case. But, even with an Auror; a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor; and an old, wizened warlock instructing him personally, Harry couldn't manage more than a wisp of silver to reluctantly waft out of his wand.

It was frustrating; he hadn't had so much trouble with new magic spells since he had discovered that he didn't need to—and, in fact, _shouldn't_—draw on his chakra reserves while using a wand. On top of that, it was embarrassing. It had been explained to him, multiple times from all three wizards, that the charm responded to the emotions of the magician. In particular, the Patronus responded to positive feelings. Harry might as well announce to the world that he'd never felt happy in his life.

Which wasn't really fair. He didn't feel _unhappy_, and that should count for something. He was content. He had family and friends, and just because he'd never had a moment of joyous euphoria was no reason for the others to look at him with awkward expressions of poorly hidden pity.

"I'd run," Harry snapped irritably in reply.

Lupin didn't have a chance to respond because suddenly there was cawing and feathers everywhere as the birds startled, taking to the air. For a moment everything was black and they couldn't even see the manor such a short distance in front of them. Just as suddenly, the air cleared and only a few lingering birds continued to shoot out of the grass almost at their feet. Lupin tried very hard not to examine the patches of grass where they'd gathered too closely and instead focused on catching up to the quick teenager again.

They reached the house without incident, which in and of itself made the four men all the more wary.

"You're sure this is the right place, Ab?" Sirius asked with an edge of nervous energy, wand held tightly in his hand.

"I'm sure," the old wizard grunted gruffly, blue eyes darting around behind the frame of his glasses.

The estate included a large, two-story house with overgrown grounds and wild ivy clinging to the walls like living spider webs, dark and fluttering in the evening breeze. Harry didn't think it looked particularly intimidating, but something about the place put him on edge, and he wasn't about to ignore his instincts.

"There," he pointed towards a small, square window half hidden by a gnarled, unkempt willow tree.

"Harry," Lupin took a careful step closer to the building and peered up at the shadowed surface, "It doesn't even look like that window opens. Besides, we agreed to stay together and I doubt the rest of us could fit through that."

"Which means they won't be expecting a break-in through there," Harry countered, "If Voldemort is really as strong as everyone says, then we need every advantage we can get; especially surprise. I'm going in."

The wall was an easy climb and he ignored the calls for him to stop. Whatever it was about Hogwarts that didn't allow his chakra to stick to the walls, it didn't seem to extend past the grounds. Harry smirked—that would make this job easier, but it also called into question why his brother was having such a difficult time escaping, if there was nothing hampering his abilities like at the castle.

Clinging securely to the wall near the small window, Harry peered inside, alert for the first sign of danger. The room on the other side looked small and dark and no matter how much he concentrated, Harry couldn't sense any life inside.

Silently, he drew a short, white knife from a special pouch on his belt. Gripping the handle tightly with his right hand, Harry allowed his chakra to slip into the blade. It wasn't difficult; the specially forged blade pulled at his chakra like an electric circuit, drawing it out of him if he didn't keep it under control.

Immediately, white chakra licked up the short blade like flames, casting an eerie white reflection across the glass. Harry turned his wrist over and plunged the sharp tip into the glass with little effort. He cut a large, quick circle at an angle, drawing his knife smoothly through the window pane like nothing, then pulled it back and reached out with his other hand to carefully catch the circle of glass as it slid out of place.

Clamping down on his chakra, Harry watched the white flames disappear again before stowing the knife away. He awkwardly maneuvered the glass to a secure branch on the tree behind him. Then he slipped inside.

* * *

"That stupid brat," Sirius growled, straining to see after the boy as he disappeared into a potential death trap. He turned to the others, dark eyes bright and angry. "Dammit—we have to get in there! What was he thinking?!"

"Mm…. reminds me of someone else I used to know," Aberforth mused, giving the dark haired man a meaningful look.

"Still, Sirius is right, we have to get in there," Lupin said, frowning worriedly up at the dark manor. "Harry could be in danger. He isn't thinking straight."

"Besides, he's only thirteen," Sirius grumbled, falling in step with Lupin as he headed around the perimeter of the house. "I don't care if he _is_ a—a ninja; he can't really think he can handle something like this alone."

Lupin frowned, glancing at the other man briefly, but he didn't have a chance to say anything.

"That boy's different, for sure," Aberforth mused, "Sending him to live with his brother is probably the worst thing Albus could have done."

"But he _is_ Harry's family," Lupin reminded them sharply. "Harry had the right to know him."

"Maybe," the older man said dubiously. "I haven't known the boy long, so I might not have gotten a good impression of him. But he certainly seems to think highly of himself—and lowly of everyone else. He's reckless, and filled with hellfire; a dangerous combination in the best of times and even worse now, I think."

"He certainly has a volatile temper," Sirius grumbled, "And violent. That kid always resorts to violence before anything else."

Lupin sighed. "Now you two just aren't being fair. Harry's under a lot of pressure right now; mostly from himself, but also from all of us. He's got his rough places, sure, but he's also a thoughtful and mature, hard working young man. If he'd grown up with a wizarding family to dote on his every whim, there's no telling how he would have turned out, but I suspect the good characteristics would have gone with the bad."

Sirius grunted a half-hearted acknowledgement. "There's a door," he muttered, "Let's go."

A burst of light left the Auror's wand and the three men stormed inside, ready to take on whatever was on the other side.

* * *

"Harry?" Lupin called out, rounding a bend in the second floor corridor. His wand was out, but held rather loosely and streaming white light onto the floor and walls.

A door halfway down the hall was hanging haphazardly on its hinges, wood splintered near the handle. Lupin jogged towards it.

The room was small, windowless, and empty of any furniture. A rancid stench hung heavily in the air, nearly making the wizard gag. Lupin frowned down at the boy kneeling in the middle of the sparse room, absolutely still.

"There's no one here," he said, tone gruff as he tried not to breathe in the air. He was sure Harry had figured that out for himself already, by now. "I don't know if the Death Eaters really did use this place, but they're not here now."

"… They were here," Harry assured him, standing and brushing off the knees of his pants. "But they've cleared out. I'd say we missed them by about eight hours or so." He turned to face the man, green eyes dark and intense. "My brother was here."

Lupin's frown twitched deeper. "What makes you say that? Did you find something?"

Harry motioned at the floor, where dark stains marred the wooden planes. "It's his blood. I can tell by the smell."

The man grimaced, looking between the bloodstain and the teenager. "Harry, you can't honestly… it's impossible to tell something like that—just from the _smell_."

The Genin shook his head. "I'm a Hatake, Lupin-sensei. My sense of smell is stronger than most people's; it always has been. Only an Inuzuka's nose could really compare…" He sighed, frowning at the stains again, "And I've smelled Kakashi-niisan's blood a lot. This is definitely his."

Lupin sighed but decided not to argue, despite his misgivings of the boy's sources. "Alright. So, where do we go from here? Is he still alive?"

The boy scoffed, "I doubt Voldemort-san would be able to do anything useful with his corpse, so he must be keeping him alive for some reason." The boy's expression faltered, worry creeping into his face. "But… if they want him alive for something, I don't know what it is. He's not a wizard or…" He broke off, shaking his head, and his expression closed over again, "It seems like I'm back at the beginning again. Maybe there's a clue somewhere in this house."

The man smiled tightly and patted the boy on his shoulder. "If he's still alive, that's something, right? Even if we don't find something here… maybe Professor Snape will know something by now."

"I don't trust him," Harry said blithely.

Lupin chuckled. "Well, let's go downstairs and find the others. Maybe Ab will have another idea."

Harry shrugged off the man's hand and preceded him out the door and down the hall.

"_There_ he is!" Sirius blurted with annoyance as he spotted the pair descending the stairs towards them. "Do you have a death wish, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer, because at that moment there was a loud crack and adrenaline rushed back into his blood. The wizards around him tensed at the sound, but while they were looking around in bewilderment, scrambling for wands, Harry's eyes locked on the front door.

"Outside," he snapped, jumping the last few steps and running past Sirius and Aberforth, already holding a pair of kunai.

Before he could reach the door, it swung open. Harry skidded to a halt, staring at the three figures in the doorway.

* * *

Kakashi stared at the raging flames blocking off the South corridor blankly, eye half-lidded and mind on other things. Such as why he'd been taken to a hospital on the East coast of Russia without a word of explanation.

His head swam with a brief flood of vertigo as a wave of pain forced his breath out in a whoosh. The potions he'd been given had taken away most of the pain, but the weakness in his limbs had lingered and the other effects tended to rise up in him suddenly on occasion. They had been masked, but they certainly weren't gone—Kakashi hoped whatever the illness was doing to his body wouldn't be irreparable.

Blinking, Kakashi focused his attention on the flames again, gritting his teeth as he blocked out the protests of his body.

Voldemort and his men were certainly efficient, at least. Within minutes of arriving they had secured the area they apparently needed access to and had taken out any threats to their privacy. He almost respected it, and he might have except that they didn't seem to differentiate the fact that the people they were shooting deadly spells at were civilian medical personnel and not military forces.

"Hatake!"

Kakashi looked up at his name and his eyes landed on Voldemort.

The man's expression was expectant, his eyes bright and his lips upturned with something like a cruel eagerness. "This way."

A rush of hatred crashed over the Jounin at the audacity of the man's assumption that he could order him around, and he was forced to clamp down on the urge to cut open the man's throat or push his hand through his heart. Truthfully, he was curious about why the wizard felt he needed _him_ there—what could he possibly offer that a troop of wizards couldn't do themselves? Still, whatever curiosity he felt couldn't go nearly far enough to outweigh the anger he felt at being used by the wizard.

His first step almost faltered, but Kakashi forced himself to keep moving, glancing at the plaque on the wall next to the door Voldemort was waiting at. It was blank and he turned his attention fully on the wizard as he approached.

With a wave of his hand, the other man ushered him ahead of him, eyes intent and expectant. Kakashi met his gaze with a glare, and considered how easy it would be to kill him when he was already standing within arm's reach.

Then his eyes landed on the man lying in the hospital bed and he really _would _have tripped if Voldemort hadn't roughly caught hold of his arm and held him upright long enough for him to regain his balance.

"Someone you know?" The man demanded, a low whisper near his ear.

Kakashi jerked away from the man and briefly considered telling him off and claiming he didn't recognize the man in the bed. But his reaction had already given that away and his denial would only tell Voldemort that he didn't want him to know. The patient's eyes were closed, and his face a mask of peaceful rest. His brown hair was still unruly, although it was longer and shaggier than Kakashi had ever known it, and he doubted he would ever forget the thick scar on the right side of the man's jaw.

"His name is Matsuro," Kakashi supplied at length, eyes searching the man's face. "He is a comrade of mine… but I don't know him well." He walked across to the sleeping Jounin and stood over him silently for a moment before turning to look at Voldemort over his shoulder, eyes narrowed sharply. "This is who you want me to talk to?"

"I want to know how he got here," Voldemort confirmed, "As I am sure that you do, as well."

"And you honestly think that I would tell you how to get to my own country if I knew?" Kakashi asked incredulously.

Voldemort only smiled, a twisted upturning of the corners of his lips, and said nothing in reply.

Kakashi frowned and turned back to his fellow shinobi. Slowly, he reached out to shake the sleeping man's shoulder, but his hand didn't connect—he hadn't expected it to. A strong grip caught his wrist with several centimeters to spare, and muddy brown eyes snapped open to look at him with an intense, even gaze.

For a long moment Kakashi said nothing and the two men simply stared at each other in silence.

"Matsuro," Kakashi spoke at length, pausing for some comment of recognition from the man. They weren't close friends, but he had saved the man's life once and that was the sort of thing you never forgot, Kakashi knew.

Matsuro continued to stare up at him silently so Kakashi continued, making the easy switch back to his mother tongue. "Matsuro," he started again, "How did you get here?"

Still, the other man gave no response. Kakashi glanced over his shoulder at Voldemort, who was watching expectantly. He turned back to the other shinobi.

"He can't understand us, Matsuro," he assured the bed-ridden man. "He speaks a different language. A _very_ different language." He hoped he'd gotten his point across well enough. In Konoha, the extent of language variations was little more than the difference between dialects countries used—which everyone knew, anyway. Until he'd met Harry, Kakashi hadn't even realized it was possible to speak such an unusual language—one that sounded nothing like his own.

"… Very," the man repeated hoarsely, his voice scratchy as though he hadn't spoken aloud in a lengthy amount of time.

Kakashi frowned, a slight down turn of his lips, hidden beneath his mask. "Yes," he repeated slowly, uncertain, "A very different language. He can't understand us…" he hesitated, and then added, "Are you alright, Matsuro?"

"Ma…tsuro," the man repeated haltingly, his eyebrows furrowing. "Matsuro…"

Kakashi looked sharply at Voldemort. It was abundantly clear that Matsuro was _not_ alright. "What's wrong with him?" He demanded angrily, because he couldn't believe for a moment that the wizard had brought him here without knowing the other Jounin was very sick.

"According to the records the muggles kept, he is suffering from some sort of catastrophic memory loss," Voldemort supplied, his tone somehow managing to convey his condescension for everything _muggle_ along with the superiority of holding knowledge his captive wanted. "When he was first brought here, he had forgotten even mundane things such as how to dress and feed himself. I suspect it was caused by whatever process he went through to get from your country to ours—his mind is coated with traces of magic."

Kakashi scowled. He really hated magic. "Then what use was it to bring me here? If he's forgotten how to speak, even I won't be able to get through to him."

"Your time with him has already proved very useful," Voldemort assured him. "It has confirmed my suspicions of his origins, which will bring us that much closer to finding the answer we desire. I had hoped, however, that seeing you would remind him of how he came to be here—his report stated that he was remembering how to do things as he saw them."

Frowning, Kakashi turned back to the shinobi. "Matsuro," he said again, "Do you remember me?"

Muddy brown eyes turned up to stare at him blankly again.

"It's _Kakashi_, remember?" Kakashi pressed.

"… Kakashi…" the man repeated slowly.

Kakashi stared back at him soberly. While he'd repeated his name, Matsuro's voice didn't hold any understanding. In this condition he was little more than a parrot, coughing back whatever was thrown at him.

This couldn't be good for him, either. Everything he'd worked for would be useless if the only way back home was to lose his memory. Then again, they had made it out of Konoha and its neighboring countries with no memory loss… using magic.

Kakashi looked at Voldemort again, his eye narrowed. "We need to use magic to cross the border without ending up like _that_, don't we?"

Voldemort's smirk grew into a wide, cruel smile.


	27. The Sea of Okhotsk

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: Despite what an awesome officer I might make, I still don't own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_.

Yo. Sorry about the excrutiatingly long wait... it was longer than even my most pesimistic projections. But the good news is I did very well on my test and my application is nearly done and so I won't have so many unexpected last-minute meetings that take up most of the day to hack away at all the details. Let's optomistically give chapter 28 an ETA of Tuesday, October 13. I'm looking forward to that chapter...

Thank you so much for your reviews! I wish I had time to reply to all of them, but as you've probably noticed, I barely have time to write the story itself these days... I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

Chapter 27 – The Sea of Okhotsk

One of Voldemort's men directed the unfolding of a map onto a dead nurse's desk with his wand until the paper lay flat. He kept his wand out, positioning himself next to the map as Kakashi moved closer for a better look.

"The man was found here," the man explained, a flick of his wand causing a green marker to appear on the map, near to a small city cut off from the shore by a long line of mountains. "He was half dead and out of his mind, so he couldn't have come from far."

Kakashi smirked at the Death Eater, although the expression barely reached his eye in a slight arching. "Don't underestimate a shinobi. I know a man who ran seventy-five kilometers with nothing to eat or drink after suffering a head injury and multiple deep lacerations. He still managed to deliver a warning to the Hokage before fainting of blood loss."

"Even so, chances are likely that your land is not far from here," Voldemort said dismissively. "What is the geography like? Is it more likely to be East or West of here?" He emphasized the marker with his wand, making the green pin grow in size.

Kakashi stared at the map blankly, considering. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the mountain range on the East coast. He'd explored the region already, but the mountains hadn't held much interest to him because of the shore right off their feet.

His lips turned down in a frown under his mask. Even taking that into consideration, there was the invisible path in the cave he had seen. And there was the fact that Hogwarts wasn't on any maps, even though it existed near a village and he knew exactly where it was.

When he thought about it that way… what would it look like for an entire country—several countries, even—to be removed from a map?

He took into consideration the lake that sheltered the cove from the ocean, glancing briefly at the key to estimate its size. His frown deepened and he followed the line of latitude, recalling the digits Dumbledore had given him. Quickly, his eyes flicked back to the water to the East of the mountain range.

It seemed impossible. Could he really have found it, after all of that searching? And he was so close—yet he couldn't get there unless he allowed this madman and his companions to accompany him.

* * *

Harry paced anxiously from one end of the room to the other, unable to fathom how the others could sit and relax inside the very stronghold of their enemy. Voldemort may have abandoned the place, but there was nothing to say he wouldn't have left behind traps or spies to lay in wait for them. He stopped abruptly and turned to face the group as Lupin wrapped up their story.

"We need to know where he's going next," the Genin said emphatically. "What did he want my brother for?" Meeting Dumbledore's eyes firmly, he added, "Didn't your spies learn _anything_?"

"Actually, I believe I do know where Voldemort is headed," Dumbledore said calmly, "My sources tell me he's been poking around in the Far East recently." He matched Harry's gaze levelly. "I believe he is searching for your home, Harry."

Harry felt his face drain white and a cold sensation coiled in his gut. The words of Trelawney's prophecy reverberated through his mind.

Hermione frowned, eyebrows knit in confusion. "What does—_he_—want with that?" She asked, "Harry's here now, so what's the point of going _there_?"

"You remember Harry's brother," Dumbledore recalled calmly, "And I'm sure you remember how the two of them fought at your Quidditch match. Where Harry is from, there are hundreds of people with that kind of ability; and most of them would do anything for money and power."

Harry bristled, glowering at the wizard. "It isn't like that!" He snapped, "Only criminals and traitors would run off to follow Voldemort—no matter how much he offered! Most shinobi are very loyal to their village and their leader. If Voldemort goes through the proper channels and requests a mission—unlike _some_ wizards," he shot the man a dirty look, "Then he might have a chance of getting help. But… even if he does that, people there don't even realized this place exists. They'd think he was crazy!"

The young teen shook his head. "I don't think he'll find much help there."

Even as he said it, the anxiety in his gut only spread, because according to the prophecy, Voldemort might really find help there. He might find enough help to kill him, and move undeterred to conquer the rest of the world—or whatever it is he wanted.

Harry forced his concerns back and continued to pace. It was unlikely to happen, anyway. If Kakashi couldn't find Fire Country, there was no way some stranger could. And if Kakashi _did_ find a way back, he certainly wouldn't lead Voldemort right to it.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said mildly. "However, there is a saying we have: everyone has his price, Harry. Voldemort might make promises to enough people—with weaker loyalties than you obviously have—to gather himself a considerable army. I suggest we intercede before he is given the chance to succeed."

Harry looked at the man sharply, "We're going back to Konoha?"

"Not directly," the wizard replied, "The best option would be to stop him before he can even step foot into your lands. We will follow after him in the hopes that we can catch up to him before he discovers the secret to your land." He eased himself off the couch and held a hand towards the teen, "Come, Harry, take my arm."

The other wizards stood as Harry crossed to the old Headmaster—suspicious, but desperate enough to follow any plan that might take him closer to Kakashi. He certainly didn't have any better ideas.

"Where are we headed?" Sirius asked, pulling out his wand.

"You and the others are staying here," Dumbledore replied, "Only Harry and I will be chasing after Voldemort."

The Auror bristled, "are you mad? Even if it's you, Dumbledore, you know you can't beat Voldemort by yourself! And if he's got Death Eaters with him, it will be even more impossible!"

"I hardly believe a handful of us will make so much difference if that is the case," Dumbledore replied dryly, "If Voldemort is in full force, then even together we will not be able to stop him. However, the two of us may be able to keep tabs until we are able to intercept him."

"But we came all the way to help!" Ron protested, "What was the point of bringing us here if we just have to sit around, waiting to hear from you?"

"I don't believe I said you should be idle," Dumbledore said, "As a matter of fact, the task I am setting the rest of you with while I am gone is likely to be just as impossible and dangerous as the one Harry and I will embark on." His blue eyes lacked their typical shine, but were intense as he looked from the students to Lupin and his brother, standing next to each other. "I trust you know what a Horcrux is, Remus… and you, Aberforth, you must remember…"

* * *

Every step was like torture. His legs felt like they were weighted down with a couple dozen kilos and every movement sent sparks of lightning up his nervous system, punishing him from the inside. The sunlight, when he could make anything out beyond the black cloud that seemed to always hover near his eyes, burned brightly against his pupils. The air was like fire in his lungs, and it always seemed a little more difficult to push it from his lungs and draw in a fresh supply than it had been.

Voldemort had given him another potion that morning, when he'd been too sore to even rise from the place he'd slept. It had worn off more quickly than the others, although it almost certainly hadn't completely worked its way out of his system yet, and Kakashi was more certain than ever that he was indeed dying. It was remarkable that the man's magic was able to cover so much pain up—and more than a little disturbing. Kakashi had learned to value the signals his body sent him, so to realize they'd been so drastically altered was unnerving.

He didn't want to risk another dose. He was nearly falling dead on his feet without the potion, what was to stop him from slipping off in his sleep if he took it? It certainly didn't remove the illness from him, only covered it up, and there was no telling what damage his body was undergoing while he was unaware.

But without it he was useless. He could barely walk—and even then, it couldn't be considered in a straight line. He'd nearly run into people on at least seven different occasions in the last two hours alone, and each time the Death Eaters looked more annoyed—like he was doing it on purpose.

The air seemed even more difficult to breathe than ever and Kakashi's weighted legs ground to a halt at last. Slowly, he slumped to his knees, laboring for air and unable to go on. He wasn't even sure he _wanted_ to move on.

The realization wormed its way into his mind like a thorn and even as exhaustion bit around the edges of his consciousness, it wouldn't leave him alone.

Wind Country could be just over those peaks—but he didn't want to go. _Why_ didn't he want to go?

Vaguely, he heard voices around him, and someone's hand on his arm.

The Jounin broke away from it violently; the pain when his face hit the ground only registered mildly beside the persistent torment assaulting him already.

And he really didn't _want_ to be on this mountain. He had more important things to worry about—like what the fuzzy voice he was sure belonged to Voldemort was saying—but his mind lingered on the single point. All of this seemed like a very bad idea. Like it would never bring him any closer to returning home and they were wasting time that couldn't afford to be wasted here.

Kakashi's eyes snapped open abruptly. The black cloud hovered close to the front of his face and he couldn't even see the tip of his own nose, but he didn't care because all of a sudden he was realizing this felt like the wrong way—even though it was obviously the right way.

He recognized the conflicted sensation—it had been exactly the same as the last time he'd been in the area. He hadn't been ill at the time, but crossing the mountains had seemed like a futile effort not worth the time it would take. He'd _meant_ to explore the area thoroughly, especially near the coast, and even looking back he couldn't think of a single logical reason to abandon his search just to the West of the peaks.

And he'd looked at the maps. He'd determined this was the most likely place for his country, hidden even from the map-makers, to be. There had to be something else affecting him—something like a Genjutsu that only affected the mind.

The black cloud was dense around him now, and the fuzzy voices all around were muted to almost nothing. The vague sensation of someone touching his shoulder was the last thing he felt.

* * *

Harry's head swam. He shut his eyes tightly before opening them again, peering at his completely dull surroundings. He squinted, frowned, and looked up at Dumbledore.

"Where are we?"

They stood in the middle of a shadowed alley; tall, brick buildings loomed over them on both sides and a grimy, cracked street stretched underneath them. There was no sign of Voldemort, his brother, or anyone at all.

"This is the Ministry of Magic's apparition point," Dumbledore replied casually, "I'm afraid the range of apparition isn't so great that we can reach our destination in one jump, and it would be dangerous to try too many times in quick succession. The most efficient method, therefore, will be to travel by Portkey. Since I do not have one on hand, the quickest method of obtaining one will be from the Ministry itself."

Harry scowled, "Those people can't get anything done."

Dumbledore smiled, "My dear boy, it all depends on the request that is placed—and who is doing the requesting. I am still well respected within the Ministry, and I certainly do not plan on making any impossible requests."

The man began to walk, and Harry quickly followed, keeping half a step behind to watch his every movement.

"What is that?" Harry questioned when they turned the corner and the man strode purposefully towards a seven-foot rectangular box across the street.

"It is called a phone booth," Dumbledore supplied amiably, "Although I'm afraid if you tried to use it as such, it wouldn't work. This particular phone booth is more of an elevator, which will take us to the Ministry's entrance hall."

Harry frowned, "Last time we went straight inside."

Dumbledore nodded, "Naturally the Minister has certain authorities that allow him to apparate directly into the building. This method of entrance provides us with more anonymity."

Harry nodded vaguely and stepped into the booth behind the elder wizard, still not entirely convinced of the man's motives. He watched carefully as Dumbledore twisted the dial several times: 6 – 2 – 4 – 4 – 2. A voice suddenly filled the booth.

"Names," it demanded all around them.

"Albus Dumbledore and Harry Hatake," Dumbledore supplied genially.

"Purpose of visit," the voice prompted.

"The Department of Magical Transport," Dumbledore replied, "Portkey Office."

With a friendly _bing!_ Something clattered into the change return.

"Please take your Visitor IDs," the voice advised.

Without giving them the moment needed to do so, the entire booth lurched and plunged down at an alarming speed. Harry grabbed at the wall instinctively, although it didn't do any good since the wall was falling with them.

The drop only lasted just under a minute and the elevator doors opened again. The abused street corner was gone, and Harry looked out at the same large room he'd appeared in the first time he had visited the Ministry, although the fireplaces didn't seem to be as crowded as they had been during his previous visit.

Harry grabbed his ID card and fell in step behind Dumbledore again as the wizard led the way through the lobby with long, quick strides.

The Genin recalled the location of the Department of Magical Transport from the last time he had been at the Ministry, but was only vaguely aware of walking in the correct direction as the last time he and Kakashi had sought it out in a rather round-about manner.

* * *

Bernadette Guelder looked up from her paperwork when the door opened, and she stared in surprise at the pair walking casually into her office. Her face slowly drained of blood and her eyes widened in alarm, hand quickly groping for her wand.

"I see you recognize Harry from his previous visit." Guelder looked quickly from the boy—one of the two men who had held her and the entire Department of Magical Transport staff hostage for over two hours when they'd been unable to comply with demands for a Portkey to be made to send them to a fictitious location—to the man beside him. Albus Dumbledore didn't look any more senile than he had when she had been in school, but Guelder remained cautiously alert, taking into consideration his present company.

The elderly man smiled disarmingly, "I assure you, Ms. Guelder, young Mr. Hatake will be on his very best behavior with me today."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation—because even after everything that had happened, the wizard still had the audacity to refer to him as a child.

Guelder hesitated, looking between the two again. The boy hadn't taken out any of his violent black knives, but it didn't mean that he wouldn't any second. She knew first-hand that even the younger of the Hatake brothers was very fast.

Dumbledore continued as though he didn't notice her discomfort. "We would like a Portkey for Poronaisk in the Sakhalinskaya Oblast, Russia."

Guelder shot a nervous look at Harry. Reluctantly, she reached for the stack of blank paperwork on her desk, "You'll need to fill out some papers—"

Dumbledore interrupted before she had the chance to explain further. "I'm afraid we are on an urgent schedule," he said mildly, "It is extremely important that we be off without delay."

Guelder frowned suspiciously, "There are proper procedures, Professor Dumbledore, and even you must follow them."

At Dumbledore's side, the boy's eyes narrowed with irritation. "We don't have time for paperwork," he growled, hands slamming down on the front of her desk—Guelder flinched back and her fingers tightened nervously around her wand. "My brother—"

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted sternly, a hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry's glare flicked up to him, but the man ignored it, reaching past the boy to retrieve the papers Guelder had dropped. "If Ms. Guelder insists we follow procedure, then we must follow procedure."

The teen's mouth opened to argue, but Dumbledore continued before he could get another word in.

"I do, however, feel compelled to warn you, Ms. Guelder," he said softly, "That every moment you delay us here is a moment you give to Voldemort to carry out his plan unchecked."

Somehow, the woman's face drained even further. Harry frowned severely, first at Dumbledore and then turning his attention back to Guelder.

"This is a-about—" Guelder managed to stammer before she cut herself off, unable to complete the thought, "Does the Minister know?"

"I have not had the chance to inform him," Dumbledore answered honestly, "The opportunity arose very quickly, and the window available to us may be very short. Perhaps you can send a message for us; we are in a dreadful hurry, you know."

Guelder felt herself nodding despite her lack of understanding, the grip on her wand still as tight as ever.

"Poronaisk in the Sakhalinskaya Oblast, Russia," Dumbledore reminded her.

Suddenly, she was getting to her feet. "Yes, of course, Professor Dumbledore. The paperwork can be dealt with later in certain circumstances. This way, please."

Smiling at Harry briefly, Dumbledore followed.

Harry thought he was going to be sick. His stomach churned angrily and his abdomen was cramped from the intense pressure of the long Portkey trip. His head spun and ached like he'd been whipped across half of Konoha on the back of a crazed wolf. Harry suspected his head actually hurt _more_ than that, because even a mad wolf could only thrash about so much without causing injury to itself, as well.

He forced his attention outward and looked first at Dumbledore—even the wizard was looking a little green—and then at their surroundings. His eyes were invariably drawn up from the small town laid out some distance in front of them to the greenish glow in the otherwise dark evening sky.

"I think Voldemort has already been here," Harry said grimly, "He's probably left already, too."

He looked back at the wizard, who took a moment to follow his earlier line of sight. The old man's expression sobered at the sight—the large, emblazoned scull and snake that invariably meant that he was too late to stop something terrible from happening.

His eyes lowered to the town sitting below it. "We should see what he has done," he said resignedly, "Perhaps it will give us a clue as to where to go from here."

Harry frowned, "You said he was going to Konoha. We should head straight there and cut him off. You already know where it is, so we have the advantage for now."

"It's not that easy, Harry," Dumbledore countered, "We could make it to your village before Voldemort, true, but he won't necessarily go straight there. In fact, he is far more likely to arrive at one of the other villages first, unless your brother leads him to Konoha."

Harry glowered, "He wouldn't." Although it was certainly within the Jounin's ability to lead Voldemort somewhere else. After all, it wasn't just because of his death count that Kakashi had made it into the Bingo Book—it had more to do with what he knew; the locations of nearly every hidden village in existence.

"Then we won't find Voldemort in Konoha," Dumbledore said, "We will follow him, instead. He doesn't know what he is dealing with; we have time to catch up."

"If we go to Konoha, we won't need to catch up!" Harry snapped, "The Hokage can give us additional forces to track him down—Voldemort won't last a day in Hi no Kuni, and he won't last much longer than that in any of the other countries."

"Your Hokage may not see this as the problem that we do," Dumbledore countered, "I did try to reason with him to begin with."

"Of course he wouldn't have cared then," Harry retorted, "You were across the world and there was no reason to believe Voldemort was a threat to us or our people. If he's actually _in_ our country, it will be another story."

"But he may not be in _your_ country," Dumbledore reminded him, taking away the option for further discussion as he started towards the town.

Irritated, Harry followed after him, "Why do we have to waste time here? Even if we're just following him, we can pass through the town in whatever direction Hi no Kuni and the other countries are in."

"I want to know what he was doing here," Dumbledore replied mildly, "Surely you agree that knowledge is one of your greatest assets against an enemy. There shouldn't be anything he knows that you don't know."

"It's impossible to get those kinds of odds," Harry grumbled, although he _did_ know the importance of knowledge in fighting an enemy. You may not be able to know everything, but the more you do know the better.

* * *

Kakashi woke to a shock of cold water against his inflamed skin. At first all he could see was a bright, white blur, and he was sure something wasn't working properly—then shoes and the hanging edge of a black robe moved in front of him and broke him of the delusion.

Blinking several times, the young man bit back a groan as he pushed himself into a seated position. He felt as though he'd been trampled by a stampede of circus animals. It was a marked improvement from the last time he'd been conscious.

More importantly, he was in the middle of a desert. All around him sand stretched out to the horizon. Towards the West, he could see the dark shadows of the mountains, but they were a long distance away already.

Confusion swelled in the Jounin's mind—how long had he been out?

He started towards his feet, but a voice interrupted his attempt at standing.

"I'd like you to stay where you are for now, Kakashi," Voldemort instructed lowly.

Pausing, Kakashi looked up. The wand pointed at him was too far away for a quick lunge, but close enough that he wouldn't have time to dodge out of the way of whatever spell might come from it. He scowled.

"What happened to helping each other?"

"Don't take me for a fool, Hatake," the man said coldly, "You didn't follow me this far to be _helpful_. If anything, it was because I was the only one who could help _you_. Now is the time for you to pay me back for everything I've given you, and you _will_ pay me back, whether or not you do so willingly."

Kakashi wasn't surprised. "What do you want?"

Instead of answering, Voldemort countered with another question, tone softening to something almost casual. "Do you know where we are, Kakashi?"

The Jounin glanced around again—the desert, the mountains. Was it too much to hope that this was Wind Country?

"I don't know," he said at last, returning his sharp gaze on the wizard.

"We have crossed through the mountains and are now in the middle of the Sea of Okhotsk," Voldemort supplied. His dark eyes sparkled with a red light, "According to the maps, at least. But that isn't where we are, are we, Kakashi?"

Kakashi didn't respond.

"This is the land you come from," Voldemort said, "I have brought you here, like I promised."

"You promised to cure me," Kakashi countered.

"By taking you home," Voldemort agreed, "If it is possible for you to be cured, I am sure you will be soon."

Kakashi considered silently. He doubted the wizard had been telling the truth about any of that. With his potions, the wizard could make him think he was being healed, but as soon as they'd worn off, the disease would undoubtedly return.

"I'll give you what you want _then_," Kakashi said, "You can't expect me to give in to your demands before I'm assured of my own safety."

"I can and I do," Voldemort said, voice cold again. "I think you are forgetting who I am, Kakashi. With a single word I can make you burn with pain. With one spell I can end your life. If you don't give me what I want, I can easily get rid of you _before_ you're cured."

"What do you want?" Kakashi asked again.

"Tell me where your people live," Voldemort demanded.

Kakashi groaned with a weak laugh. "_That's _what you want? Do you think I would tell you where my village was just so you could kill the people I've sworn to protect?"

"There is only one person I want to kill," Voldemort dismissed, "And he is not there."

Kakashi frowned. "What do you want with my village, then?"

"I have a proposition for your village," Voldemort supplied gamely, "You _ninja_ have some impressive abilities. I can offer your people certain privileges if you help me."

Kakashi's dark eyes studied him brightly with understanding. "You could offer us land," he suggested, "We'd have room to make something of ourselves instead of being held in check by the surrounding nations."

"Of course," Voldemort confirmed silkily, "That would be all too easy. I could gift your people with a significant role in the new order of things that I am creating. Your abilities certainly aren't mundane. You may not wield a wand, Kakashi, but something in your essence must be magical for you to do the things you do."

"Magical creatures, like yourself, are among the types of people the Ministry wishes to suppress," the wizard continued, "Through no fault of your own, you were born differently and so the Ministry sees you as below them. Not so, with me. I can see you for what you really are. Your people have a power; a different power, but one that is hardly less than that of true witches and wizards. Those with innate magical gifts should be given a place of respect equal to that of others in the magical community."

"So you would invite us to join with you in your new… magical community," Kakashi surmised, "Under your rule."

"I don't propose to rule the likes of you," Voldemort assured him, "We would be more of a _union_. Your leader would be on equal standing with me."

"…" Kakashi considered the man in front of him. He smiled. "You don't understand much about _ninja_, do you, Voldemort-san?"

The wizard raised an eyebrow and the smile vanished from his lips.

"We aren't swayed easily by lies," Kakashi supplied, "And we're led only by the most powerful of us. The Hokage would have your head for suggesting such a bald-faced deception. You might as well go home now and save yourself the embarrassment of being undone by a band of lowly _creatures_. Of course, you could always kill me and wander about aimlessly until my people hear about you and come to finish you off themselves. You might get an extra day or two here, that way."

The dark light had returned to Voldemort's narrowed eyes. "Very well, Kakashi. If you will not cooperate, then I will extract the information we desire by force."

* * *

Harry's head ached—more than it had in a while, and certainly more than it ever had while he was fully awake. It reminded him of the times he'd woken up from those strange—almost real—nightmares. Except he hadn't been asleep, he'd been standing outside of the Poronaisk General Hospital in a large crowd restricted from entrance by five police officers.

He reached up, giving in to the urge to rub at his scar in a futile attempt to ease the sharp pounding at its source.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, wading back through the crowd towards him.

"Yeah," Harry quickly dropped his hand again, "It's just my scar."

Dumbledore frowned, "Your scar? It hurts?"

"Sometimes," Harry muttered uncomfortably, "It's not a big deal. I usually just ignore it, but sometimes it hurts a little more."

Dumbledore didn't look at all relieved. "It has always hurt? It's an old scar; it shouldn't be hurting at all…" The last part was softer, directed more at himself than Harry.

Harry hesitated—there wasn't any reason why he should tell Dumbledore anything. Except that the scar had been created by a curse and the old wizard knew far more about magic than he did. And he had said that it shouldn't hurt. "It didn't always hurt," he muttered, barely believing he was actually explaining himself, "It started about two years ago, during the Chuunin Exams."

Alarm flashed across the old man's face, but it was quickly hidden, although not enough to fool the Genin. He took Harry's arm and began moving from the crowd, pulling the boy with him.

Scowling, Harry pulled his arm free, although he kept pace with the man's long strides. "What is it?" He asked with irritation.

It wasn't until they were well away from the crowd that Dumbledore answered—and then it was in the way of a question. "What time of year do your Chuunin Exams take place, Harry?"

Frowning suspiciously, Harry answered vaguely, "Twice each year. The first one is a few months after graduation, and the second is about half a year after that."

Dumbledore stopped, turning to look at him and grabbing his arm again so he was made to face him. The wizard's face was intense, his blue eyes hard. "Harry, this is very important. What time of year _exactly_ did your scar begin to hurt?"

Harry had rarely seen Dumbledore get serious over anything. Perhaps the only time he'd been so focused was during their assault on the school at the Quidditch game. He was surprised enough that he didn't break away, and instead answered the man's question without further hedging. "At the beginning of Rokugatsu—ah, the sixth month, that's…"

"June," Dumbledore supplied for him, looking slightly ill, "Are you certain that is when it was, Harry?"

The teen nodded, "I wouldn't forget. It was the day before the Final Exam, and I missed it because I'd been taken to the hospital… That was one of the times it _really_ hurt."

"I see," the wizard said grimly. He turned away from the boy again and strode off quickly, angling out of town and towards the mountains beyond the edge of the small city.

Frowning, Harry hurried after him. "What do you mean, I see?" He demanded, "Do you know what's causing it? The doctors were never able to come to any decision—if you know, you should tell me."

"Your scar is the result of a very powerful curse cast by a very powerful wizard," Dumbledore said absently. "The results of something like that are almost completely unknown. There is no way to conclusively say any one thing is the cause of your pain."

The Genin scowled at the unhelpful answer. If he was going to help the man, the least he could do was treat him as the equal partner that he was forced to be.

Dumbledore stopped again abruptly, and met Harry's eyes with an intense look of his own. "Harry, it was the third of June, just two years ago now, that Voldemort returned to the flesh."

Harry said nothing. He wasn't sure what to say, but the dream—or vision—he'd had shifted to the forefront of his mind. He considered telling Dumbledore, about the mirror and the red stone and the intense _happiness_ he'd felt.

Turning, Dumbledore continued walking again, his pace slightly slower but no less urgent. "I doubt it is a coincidence that your scar has given you trouble ever since the one who gave it to you returned. Unfortunately, I do not know what it means, and we don't have the time to experiment on the matter. However, I believe stopping him has become more urgent than ever."

Harry grunted in half-hearted agreement. He was more still more concerned about Kakashi than his headaches. "Did you find anything useful out at the hospital?"

"Unfortunately, anyone who could have told us what Voldemort was after is dead," Dumbledore said quietly, "All in a matter of one night and all in a very concentrated area of the hospital."

"Which means he was looking for something in particular," Harry mused, "And he probably found it." Otherwise the casualties probably would have counted much higher.

Dumbledore glanced across at him with an eyebrow raised but said nothing.

The street was empty and the last of the houses at the far reaches of town had passed by them—Dumbledore stopped again, reaching into his robes with one hand and holding the other towards Harry.

"Come closer, Harry," he directed, pulling out a large, silver coin attached to a chain. When Harry didn't move, he extended the coin towards the boy, instead—the image of a hand holding a shining stick was embossed onto the front. "Touch this."

"What is it?" Harry asked warily, not enthusiastic at the prospect of touching anything after the last Styrofoam cup that he touched had transported him all of the way to this town in what had to be the most uncomfortable manner possible.

"It is a Portkey I had designed a long time ago," Dumbledore supplied, "It will take us to your village."

Harry hesitated a moment longer, but he didn't see what reason the wizard had to lie. Slowly, he reached out and touched it, cringing with anticipation. Nothing happened.

Dumbledore smiled, "This Portkey doesn't work like most. It transports wizards between two previously set points upon activation of the spell." He touched his wand to the back with his free hand and spoke, "_Tripudium_."


	28. Homecoming

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: I don't own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_. I only pretend that I do.

For once, I'm actually updating this on time! I can't remember when the last time I did that was... Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm sorry that I can't respond to each of you personally, but I really do appreciate it; I love hearing everyone's thoughts on the story.

This chapter might seem like things will be winding down... but if it does, don't be fooled. I still have plenty of twists and surprises left that I'm looking forward to springing on you. Heh. Well, hope you enjoy chapter 28! The next chapter should be up October 27.

Chapter 28 - Homecoming

Harry's head swam long enough that by the time he registered the familiar face of the Sandaime Hokage standing in front of him, he also registered the masked ANBU guard holding a blade at his neck. The relief that he felt at finally being home was quickly tempered with the growing reality that he was marked as a deserter and traitor of the village.

"Hokage-sama!" He gasped, suddenly at a loss for words despite his desire to explain himself and somehow clear his name and convince his superiors that he had never been a missing-nin.

The Sandaime looked between Harry and Dumbledore, brown eyes cold and narrowed. "Hatake Harii," the man said; his voice was as frigid as his eyes. He continued, purposefully using his own native language—presumably so the wizard wouldn't understand. "I'm surprised you came back after abandoning your village."

Harry's mouth didn't seem to work—his mind was screaming out in his defense but somewhere along the way the words were lost. The Hokage couldn't really believe he'd left the village by his own choice. He was sure, whatever Kakashi or the textbooks said, the Sandaime knew him better than that.

The elder shinobi looked between the two intruders again, and his mouth formed a grim frown. "I see. You must have been demoralized by Kakashi's death and returned to us."

"Kakashi isn't dead!" Harry blurted, mostly because he'd been worrying about just that ever since his brother had fallen into Voldemort's hands. There was no telling how long the wizard would keep him alive, or even if he was still alive, but Harry couldn't accept any other reality just yet. Especially not now that the village seemed to be turning against him.

"Then you admit to betraying your village," the Sandaime pronounced coldly.

For a moment, Harry could only stare in shock—what was the Hokage _saying_? He had to know Harry wasn't like that.

"No! Of course not!" He snapped out at last, looking from the Hokage and turning his head as much as he could to look across at Dumbledore—the old wizard looked a bit concerned but mostly confused. Undoubtedly, the situation was going even more poorly than he'd expected. He turned back to the Hokage.

"Hokage-sama, I would never doing anything to endanger my village!" He insisted, "Kakashi-niisan and I were taken against our will!"

"Just what do you consider to be your village?" The Sandaime countered calmly, "There was no sign of a struggle, Harii, you have no case to present. All of the evidence has already been collected and examined; the council reached its verdict months ago. There is nothing you can say in your own defense now that would clear your name. All that must be settled is your method of disposal."

Harry felt vaguely sick and desperate and more than a little angry and betrayed. He twisted his head again to glare at Dumbledore, upset enough that it took him a second switch back to English. "Tell him—_tell him_ what you did!" He demanded, "This is your fault—if you don't say something, they're going to have me killed! Who are you going to find to fight your battles for you, then?"

Dumbledore's shaggy eyebrows rose in surprise and he looked sharply at the Hokage. "You wouldn't really," he started, sounding genuinely confused and worried.

The Sandaime met his eyes steadily. "This is our way," he said stiffly, "You have nothing to do with this. You will be released after the traitor is dealt with."

"… Surely there is a more reasonable way to handle this situation," Dumbledore said, more uncertain than Harry had ever seen him. "Ninja leave your village all of the time; certainly you don't kill them all."

"Shinobi leave our village only when they are ordered to," the Hokage countered, "You know more of our customs than any other foreigner, but you still know very little, Dumbledore-san. When a shinobi abandons his village without leave, he becomes a danger to the people and must be dealt with severely."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, "You know Harry is guilty of no such thing."

"Despite how it may appear, I am not the only authority in this village," the Sandaime said, "The council and I reviewed Harii's case several times before coming to the conclusion of his guilt. There is nothing that can be done now."

The Hokage switched languages again, and directed his orders to the team of ANBU surrounding the pair. "Take them to the interrogation cells. I want to know what Harii thought he was accomplishing when he left and what has become of Kakashi. Be sure to remove the old man's stick from his person, and anything else he is carrying."

Harry's mind chased itself in desperate circles—there had to be something he could do. The operative at his side slid in closer to him, a hard hand closing firmly around his upper arm.

"Hokage-sama!" He called again, "Isn't there something… can't I request an interview before the council to prove myself or something?" He suddenly wished he'd researched into the details of missing-nin a bit more thoroughly during his days at the Academy. He'd never imagined he would be the target of such a case.

The Sandaime didn't respond, watching detachedly as the pair was marched out of his office.

* * *

A warm fog had settled around his mind. His body ached, but he could only vaguely recall the fruitless hours of torture he'd suffered through. In fact, he could barely focus on anything, thoughts slipping from his mind just as soon as they'd entered.

"What is your name?"

The words cut through the haze in his mind like a kunai to the chest. Kakashi heard himself answering before he'd even had time to fully absorb the impact of the question.

"Hatake Kakashi."

The next question came almost on top of his answer. "Where do you come from?"

"Konohagakure no Sato. The Village Hidden…" he realized he was speaking halfway through his answer, but the rest of the words spilled out even as he tried to choke them back, "In the Leaves."

Kakashi's mind struggled to work through the numbing fog. The thought entered his mind—poison. He vaguely recalled being forced to swallow something—water, he'd thought at the time.

"Good," the cutting voice said. Looking up, Kakashi recognized Voldemort's face for only an instant, and then it didn't matter. "Let's try something a little harder now, Kakashi."

A truth inducing drug, Kakashi realized.

"Where is your Village Hidden in the Leaves?"

"In the forest," Kakashi said, fighting back the inclination to say more.

"What forest? Tell me how to find it."

"You can't find it—" his mouth formed a few half-thought words, but they didn't expand with anything meaningful.

"What do you mean I can't find it?" Voldemort demanded, his voice angry and almost painful in Kakashi's drugged mind.

Groaning, Kakashi answered. "It's hidden with—" he caught himself halfway through, managing to reign in his loose tongue with a good deal of effort.

"Tell me how to find your village," Voldemort demanded again, more forcefully.

The compulsion to answer was impossible to resist—whatever drug they'd given him, it was more powerful than anything Kakashi had experience with before.

"East, past the desert, through River—" the words were spilling out before he could think, but he did think, despite the fog around his mind. "—no kuni—" the effort to switch to his mother tongue was much less difficult, and Kakashi allowed himself to continue the explanation until a sudden, intense pain racked his body.

Blood filled his mouth as his teeth abruptly closed on his tongue. His words cut off but he didn't scream, although his tense body arched with pain. This was something he'd become familiar with, he remembered for a moment, but despite its familiarity he couldn't get used to it. How much more could his body take, he wondered?

* * *

Harry sat tensely on the edge of his bunk, the only furnishing present in the otherwise small, gray cell he'd been left in. He chewed his lower lip anxiously, wondering how long he'd be left here. He wasn't even sure where he was—they'd never left the Hokage Tower, but they'd traveled far enough to be almost anywhere in the village. He'd had no idea Konoha had such an expansive set of underground tunnels, but it was the only explanation. He supposed it explained how ANBU operatives managed to stay hidden in a village full of people trained to notice the smallest details, and why he'd never laid eyes on a rogue shinobi within the village walls.

He looked up at the door at the sound of quiet, echoing footsteps in the hall. They progressively grew in volume until they might have been just outside his door—then continued on, echoing into the distance.

Sighing heavily, Harry threw himself backwards on the hard mattress, swinging his legs onto the cot after him. He'd tried falling asleep a dozen times, but his mind was too busy. He couldn't rest when his future was so uncertain.

The next person down the tunnel might be someone to escort him to the maximum security prison. Or his execution.

Nausea swelled in his stomach and Harry lurched up again, burying his head in his hands. He had to think of something. The Hokage couldn't really be charging him with treason—he'd never been disloyal to the village, not for one minute.

He'd do anything for Konoha—if the Hokage would just test him. There had to be something he could do to prove himself.

Footsteps again, Harry tried not to listen but they pounded in his head, closer and closer.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. A soft scraping noise of a key in a lock followed and Harry looked up, eyes wide.

There was no doorknob on the inside, but Harry heard the one in the hall turning. He stood as the door swung inwards.

"Hatake," the man's eyes made contact with his and he didn't step into the room. His brown hair was trimmed short, and his eyes were a dark brown. Harry didn't recognize him. He stepped back, motioning Harry forward. "Come with me."

Harry hesitated before following, "Where are we going?"

The man glanced at him. "Don't talk."

Lowering his eyes, Harry nodded, and silently fell in step with the man. Every hallway looked alike; a dimly lit, gray expanse with a single, dark green line painted a foot below the ceiling. He might have been traveling back to the Hokage Tower. He might have been going in exactly the opposite direction.

Things didn't fit together in his head. Harry frowned. Ever since he'd arrived with Dumbledore, things hadn't proceeded the way he'd expected at all. It was more than the obvious; more than his being treated like a criminal. Even that wasn't right, because he wasn't shackled and the Chuunin escorting him had his back to him.

Harry was a Genin, but that didn't mean he was defenseless. Either they thought it would be impossible for him to do anything here, or there was something more going on.

Stopping, the Chuunin opened a door, and looked back at Harry expectantly.

"What now?" Harry asked.

"The Hokage wants to see you in his office immediately," the man supplied.

Frowning, Harry stepped through the door, looking up at the staircase stretched ahead of him. He looked back when the door closed, and was surprised to see the Chuunin had left him alone.

Tension drained out of his body and Harry sighed. That was the answer to his questions. He started up the stairs, feeling both relieved and nervous, because even if he wasn't in chains, he still wasn't quite sure where he stood.

The first floor was dark and empty—the doors showed that it was equally dark outside, well after night fall. Harry felt more comfortable than he would have imagined, walking towards the stairs that would take him to the Hokage's office. He had to find out how things stood, and what the Hokage was planning on doing next. He had to tell him about Voldemort and Kakashi and the possibility that they were already in one of the neighboring countries.

The hall leading to the Hokage's office was empty and dark, causing Harry to slow. He approached the door cautiously and knocked hesitantly.

"Harii—enter," the voice that wafted through the door simultaneously put Harry at ease and on edge. This was the Sandaime, he reminded himself, he knew him.

Opening the door slowly, Harry slipped inside, looking around the quiet room. It was lit by an oil lamp resting on the Hokage's desk. Unless there were ANBU agents hiding in the shadows, they were alone.

"You wanted to see me," Harry said cautiously.

The old man smiled, shadows splaying almost ominously across his features. "I apologize for the rather harsh welcoming we offered you earlier, Harii."

Harry hesitated. "Are you saying… then I haven't been found guilty of treason?"

"Your brother and you are two shinobi I don't believe I will ever have to worry about committing treason. You are Hatake, after all," the Sandaime said calmly, "And the evidence that's been collected suggests that neither of you even left your apartment."

Harry frowned, "Before you said…"

"Wizards are not common knowledge," the Hokage said, "The operatives who investigated your case couldn't even determine how it was you were taken or what had happened to you. Everything regarding your disappearance was marked as classified, but you aren't convicted of anything."

The last coils of dread relaxed out of Harry's stomach. "I thought I was going to be killed."

The Sandaime smiled, "Then perhaps Dumbledore-san believed it, as well. Our interrogators are working on him now; after they get their confession, he'll be convicted of abducting two Konoha shinobi."

"… Is he going to be killed?" Harry asked uncertainly, conflicted emotions swirling inside of him.

The Hokage didn't respond.

Harry frowned. "Kakashi's still out there, Hokage-sama, we have to find him!"

"We will," the Hokage assured him, "Where did you see him last?"

"… At Hogwarts," Harry muttered, "But he isn't there now. He was taken from the hospital by Voldemort; Dumbledore and I were following their trail. Dumbledore thought Voldemort was making Kakashi lead him back here."

The Sandaime frowned, "I assume Voldemort-san is an unfriendly."

"He killed my parents," Harry supplied, "And he's the guy Dumbledore brought me back to kill. Kakashi gathered information on him for a while, and I'm sure Voldemort knew what we were there to do."

"But he has taken Kakashi alive?" The Sandaime pressed.

Harry nodded, "I found where they'd been keeping him for a while. There was blood, but not enough for him to be dead. I'm sure he was alive a day ago, but I don't know if he still is alive." He hesitated and added, "But he _must_ be."

"Hmm. Where do you believe Voldemort and Kakashi are at the moment?" The Sandaime asked, resting his chin on his clasped hands.

Harry frowned thoughtfully, considering the map he'd seen at the Department of Magical Transportation. He visualized Poronaisk, near the Eastern coast of the Sakhalinskaya Oblast. To the West lay the massive country of Russia; to the South was China; to the East was nothing but empty ocean.

"Earth Country or Wind Country," Harry said, "They have to be coming from the West, I'm sure of it."

The Sandaime nodded once, "I'll have teams sent to search the region."

"They have to be careful," Harry said quickly, "Voldemort is a wizard; one of the strongest. They can do things on the same level as a powerful Jutsu just by knowing the right words to say and it doesn't even tire them out. I should go with."

"It's too dangerous," the Hokage countered, "An ANBU squad will be sent. Normal shinobi can't be seen in foreign countries without permission."

Harry frowned and fought back an argument.

"What do I do now…?" Harry asked, "Do I just… go back to my team…?"

"Not just yet," the Sandaime said, "We're going to keep your reappearance classified for now."

Harry hesitated, "What do I do, then? You're not going to keep me underground, are you?" Even assured that he wasn't about to be executed, he didn't want to go back to that tiny, empty cell.

"I don't think there's any reason to keep you locked up," the Hokage replied mildly, "But we can't afford anyone seeing you around the village. You'll stay at ANBU headquarters for now. You've been assigned a temporary dorm; you can eat in the cafeteria and take advantage of any training facilities not in use. You aren't a prisoner, Harii, but you are not to leave the premises, either."

Harry nodded grimly. "I understand, Hokage-sama. How do I get there?" His brother was in ANBU, but he had no idea where their headquarters were located.

"You will be taken there," the Hokage said, nodding to someone behind Harry—Harry turned; a masked ANBU operative stood tall behind him. Harry barely resisted the urge to move away, staring at his mask.

"Is there anything else useful that you can tell me about Voldemort?" The Sandaime prompted.

"Only that he's very dangerous," Harry said, "Even Kakashi-niisan thought so, and Voldemort somehow managed to capture him."

"We will keep that in mind," the Sandaime said somberly. He nodded to the ANBU and the shinobi moved forward.

Harry wasn't quite able to resist the flinch when the masked man placed a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up—the painted mask was cocked slightly to one side. Harry recognized the action from his brother and relaxed again.

He forced a smile, "Sorry, I'll never get used to those masks." The stylized tiger didn't look overly intimidating in and of itself, but what it symbolized cast it in a more sinister light. These people were the ones who lived in the shadows and did the work that even normal Jounin didn't want to touch. They were assassins; the closest things to murderers the shinobi ranks had to offer.

"Don't say that," the deep voice sounded mildly amused, "You might be wearing one someday."

Harry grimaced and the mask tilted again in a silent form of laughter. His grip tightened and with his freehand he formed half a Ram. Harry felt the wave of chakra and then they were slipping away, smoke filling the air.

* * *

When he came to, every part of him ached and throbbed. The pain went deep; into his bones, saturating every muscle in his body. His tongue felt thick in his mouth; swollen and coated with a foul, sticky layer of blood.

His eyes stared blankly over the bleak expanse of something, only he wasn't quite sure what it was. In fact, he wasn't quite sure what he was—except that he was in pain. His mind swam in confusion, thoughts leaking through it like a sieve.

A tall figure, black against the moonlight, crossed through his line of vision. It must have meant something significant, but he wasn't sure what it was. Carefully, he tried to move his fingers; they hurt, but not any more than when they'd been still. He had to look down to be certain they were moving at all. Despite the pain, he felt oddly disconnected from his body—he _thought_ it was his body.

His head throbbed and he swallowed painfully with a dry throat. What had happened? Where was he? Who was he? Did it even matter?

The silence of the night was broken suddenly by the distant howl of a coyote, long and mournful under the moon.

As though a switch had been flipped, Kakashi suddenly remembered everything, the howl echoing in his head like a familiar memory. Voldemort; the desert. He even remembered himself. That he'd forgotten it all worried him, and he knew he had to get away.

Another day like yesterday and he might not be able to come back to himself.

He lowered his eyes, tilting his head to look down at his body. He still couldn't feel anything but the encompassing pain, but he could see ropes bound tightly around him. Even when he strained against them, he hardly felt it; little more than a mild pressure across his torso, arms, and legs.

Instinctively, he reached for his chakra, already manipulating his coils for a simple escape jutsu that would help him to slip out of the thick ropes. It wasn't until he was halfway out that he realized what he was doing.

He hadn't been able to perform even simple jutsu for over a week, and while his reserves still felt exhausted, it was a vast improvement to the empty depths he'd felt the days before. Maybe he really _was _getting better.

He snorted softly at the thought that Voldemort may actually have been telling the truth about something.

Without wasting the time to explore the possibility further, Kakashi lurched to his feet and almost toppled over again. He caught himself with arms that didn't feel completely there and forced his stiff legs to move underneath him, watching as they moved as though belonging to someone else.

A shout erupted from behind him—Kakashi glanced over his shoulder and didn't realize he was falling until the sand was in his face. He scrambled upright again, just in time to avoid the red blast of light that had sand billowing around him. He forced himself to keep his attention on what his body was doing, rather than the increasing count of voices around him and ran, moving one leg in front of the other until they fell into a pattern.

He saw the wizard in his path peripherally, but his feet didn't waver.

"Stop right there!" The man snapped, wand held in front of him. Kakashi was in front of him before he could use it.

The wizard's eyes widened in horrified surprise, but he was unable to do anything more than open his mouth before the back of Kakashi's forearm hit his throat, producing a satisfying crunch as his trachea broke. The man was crumpling, wand forgotten as his hands reached for his throat in his last moments. Kakashi was already locating the next immediate threat to his escape.

Two wizards were closing in on his left and right, their feet thudding loud on the sand as they chased towards him from the front. He angled to reach the man coming on his left first, a single solid hit to his kidney dropping the man. The second man was chasing to catch up, but Kakashi was confident he'd outrun him, even at the relatively slow pace he was managing.

Then something hit his leg—something that sent a flash of pain even more intense than what was already there coursing through his nerves. He stumbled half a step but pushed on, he was almost grateful for the added stimulation, the shots of pain every time his foot hit the ground reassuring him that his limbs were still attached and the damage to his nervous system wasn't complete.

The shouting swelled—mostly behind him now—and Kakashi pushed himself to run faster still, channeling the dangerously low supply of chakra he could feel into his legs, especially the right, which was threatening to give out underneath him.

And then the voices were slowly fading into the distance.

* * *

Harry forced his tired body to move through another high-intensity pattern, throwing blows at an invisible army of enemies and twisting to avoid projectiles. He'd only been at it an hour, including his warm-up run, and was already beginning to feel the effects. He'd thought he had kept up with his training fairly well, all things considered, but his stamina had obviously slipped despite his best efforts.

Dropping to the ground in a crouch, Harry straightened slowly, breathing in purposely deep, slow breaths as he mentally prepared himself to move into another. His heart beat rapidly in his chest and his arms ached, but he was too worried about his brother to do nothing. Despite his exhaustion, his body was restless.

The sound of the door opening had him whirling around, reaching for a kunai before stopping himself as his eyes landed on a somewhat bird-like mask. With some effort, he removed his hand from his weapon pouch. The ANBU member stared at him silently, unnerving the teen a little.

Harry shifted uncomfortably—the ANBU in the cafeteria that morning had stared at him like that, too. He supposed it wasn't often they saw someone not of their ranks here, but he didn't appreciate the focused attention. Especially not from _them_.

"I'll get out of your way," Harry muttered, starting towards the door.

The other shinobi watched silently until Harry had almost passed him. "I thought you might like a sparring partner."

Harry looked at him with surprise. "Me?" He asked incredulously, as though the ANBU might have been speaking to someone else in the otherwise empty training room.

The shinobi's stance shifted into something that looked as close to relaxed as a member of the Black-Ops ever got. "My team is currently unavailable, and you seem to be alone, as well."

Harry hesitated, not sure that he felt comfortable about the idea of sparring with a member of ANBU—his brother was a one thing, but some strange masked man was a different matter. "I doubt I'd be much of a challenge for you, ANBU-san," he said carefully.

"As long as you can make my heart beat, it will be enough," the man assured him. "Call me Suzume." His face shifted, drawing attention again to the bird likeness stylized on the mask.

"…" Harry smiled a little under his cloth mask, turning away from the door. He couldn't very well turn down a challenge phrased like that. "I'm Harry."

The ANBU nodded once. "Kakashi-senpai's little brother."

"Mm," Harry agreed half-heartedly. He was proud to be Kakashi's brother, but it was always a little tiring being known just for that.

"Harii," the ANBU corrected himself.

Harry looked up and was immediately assaulted by a wave of killing intent—his adrenaline coursed to life inside of him, heart rate picking up and muscles tightening in response, his body shifting into fight-or-flight mode.

"Be ready," the ANBU warned needlessly. In an instant, the shinobi went from standing in a relatively relaxed posture through a graceful shift to a full-on run.

Harry scrambled to release his kunai, bringing them up to block the inevitable attack only to have it fail to connect—Suzume was no longer in front of him.

The Genin spun around, eyes searching behind—then above. He managed to dive out of the way before the ANBU's attack crashed down on the place he'd just been standing, raising a cloud of dust and shaking the ground just a little with the forceful impact.

Harry's attention rose a notch—if he hadn't moved, he could easily be dead. Suzume obviously wasn't pulling his punches. He needed to be completely serious about this.

The other shinobi was already coming at him again; this time drawing a short katana from his back like the one Harry had seen his brother carry on occasion. Harry threw a kunai to buy time, knowing it would never connect, mind working furiously to think out the next three steps before his head could be removed from his shoulders.

* * *

Kakashi woke feeling unbearably hot. It was as though his body was on fire, smoldering deep into his flesh. The sun was high overhead and the brightness when he opened his eyes was painful like salt on his unprotected senses. Groaning softly, he sat, regretting that he had fallen asleep in the open. His entire chest, arms, and face throbbed painfully with his movements.

Truthfully, he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter—he'd run until his body refused to carry him any further.

The throbbing from every part of his body that had saturated him the last time he woke was still there, but the intensity of it had cut in half, a small mercy as it was accompanied by the sharp aching of his bare skin and right leg.

Glancing down, the world spun momentarily—Kakashi raised a hand to his forehead, barely daring to ghost a touch onto the sensitive, burned skin there. Even at a distance he could feel the heat radiating off of him on the pads of his fingertips. His stomach churned inside of him and he fought back the urge to throw up—he couldn't let himself become more dehydrated than he was already.

After several long seconds, the dizzy spell slowly dissipated and Kakashi took a moment to examine the skin on his arms and chest—the top layer had turned a dark, baked red, and he spotted several large blisters that meant he was even worse off than he'd feared. Grimacing, he shifted his leg upright, lifting up the cuff, and felt the dark bandages that had once been his shirt.

His palm came away damp, red with blood. Even the sand where he'd been lying was red. His escape wasn't exactly working out the way he had planned.

Ripping off his left pant leg, he methodically tore it into several thick strips, adding them to the areas of his leg that seemed to be worst off and tying them tightly. He didn't dare remove the cloth already covering his leg, despite the risk of infection. He had no way of closing the wounds without a medical kit, and removing the used bandages now would only cause more harm at the moment.

Shaking his head, Kakashi pushed to his feet, stumbling for a few unsteady steps as his leg threatened to give out on him again. He drew on what chakra he could spare, using it to support the throbbing leg before pushing himself into a steady pace. He'd never make it to Konoha, but if he could make it to the border and find the patrol, he might have a chance.

He angled Northeast—towards Fire Country.

* * *

He was lightheaded and pushing the limitations of his body by the time he reached the rocky land near the Fire-Wind border. He stopped himself short, still a dozen clicks from safety—far enough that any patrols on this side of the border would be unlikely to notice him.

He peered across the desert in the growing dusk, flat on his belly, which chaffed and burned in protest of the pressure and the rough surface pushing against it. He ignored it—it wasn't anything he hadn't felt countless times since waking up.

For half an hour, Kakashi didn't move; not so much as a twitch when the wind scattered errant grains of sand into a face or a lone scorpion walked across his right hand or to ease the dull, insistent throbbing in his leg. His eyes were the only thing that moved, continuously scanning for any sign of movement on the border.

At last, the sky began to darken into a deep black and torches began to ignite down the length of the border. Kakashi was moving instantly, his leg shrieking with pain at the sudden movement after such a prolonged period of stillness, but the Jounin forced himself to keep moving, well aware of the consequences of stopping so close to the border. He was halfway across the rocky no-man's land before he heard the first shout being raised behind him, quickly followed by a clamor of alarms all going off nearly simultaneously.

Forcing more chakra through his legs, Kakashi ran full ahead, soon feeling the embracing safety of the scraggly trees that grew along this portion of the border. He still wasn't safe, but at least the sickly plants would provide him with some cover as he finished his run to Fire Country. Hopefully, the teams guarding their side of the border would be experienced enough to identify him _before_ they attacked—although without knowing what his status was, that could easily be worse.

Gradually, he slowed his pace as the plant growth around him grew thicker. He knew they'd be full of seals, acting as the eyes of patrols that couldn't necessarily see much through the forest around them. His leg throbbed persistently and goose bumps formed from the chilly evening air coming in contact with his inflamed skin. He was feeling lightheaded again and his mind was wandering enough that he nearly didn't have time to dodge the kunai that nearly impaled his left shoulder, but his instincts snapped into action and he was moving just in time, one hand snatching the blade out of the air as he went down.

He landed hard on his injured leg, and the limb finally gave out on him—Kakashi barely held onto his dignity by turning the clumsy fall into a swift, ducking crouch. Despite his disadvantaged position, Kakashi felt more confident than he had in days with the kunai clutched in his hand. He looked up to face the trio grouped around him; their fourth teammate was probably hiding in the shadows for backup in case he proved more than the three could manage.

"Hatake Kakashi," Kakashi announced before the question could be posed to him, "Registration 009720 of Konohagakure no Sato."

He recognized the face of Hota Shin, but he didn't remember ever speaking with the Chuunin before. The man tensed at his declaration.

"You realize we're under orders to return you to the village?" By the man's tone, he clearly didn't expect the Jounin to go willingly.

Kakashi smiled wryly, "I was hoping you'd say that."

Feeling assured that the Chuunin would fulfill his duty without persuading; Kakashi finally gave in to the demands of his exhausted body and passed out.


	29. Desperate Times

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: Even after 29 chapters, I still don't own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_. (If I did, Dumbledore wouldn't have so many names...)

First off, a big thanks to all of your reviews! It was awesome to see how excited everyone was that the boys had finally made their way home. But the story continues... I'm going to leave this at that because I'm completely exhausted at the moment and can hardly keep my eyes open. (But I really wanted to get this up!) So, hopefully I've managed to catch most of the typos... hope you enjoy chapter 29! 30 should be up November 10 or so...

Chapter 29 – Desperate Times

"You and Kakashi-senpai have been absent from the village for a long time," Suzume said in an almost conversational tone as the two sat side-by-side in the cafeteria for a late lunch. "I wonder; where you could have been all of that time?"

Harry glanced around uneasily. There were only a handful of masked shinobi scattered about the room, but each of them was silent, making his conversation with Suzume all the more conspicuous. He felt as though everyone was listening, and it made him uneasy—more so, even than Suzume's interest in him.

"We've been… around," Harry said awkwardly, "Out of the village. The details are classified."

"More classified than ANBU?" Suzume asked doubtfully.

Harry felt his cheeks heating up and he self-consciously took a bite of the bland, nutritionally balanced meal that he'd been given. He thought he might have found something that tasted worse than ration bars.

"What really intrigues me," Suzume went on, "Is that now you're back, but Kakashi-senpai is still nowhere to be found."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. Hopefully, his brother would be joining them soon, but he couldn't very well tell the other shinobi of the Hokage's plans to bring him back.

Suzume regarded him silently for a moment, head tilted slightly. Harry noticed that he didn't seem to be interested in eating his own meal—the gruel-like stew was growing cold and the red colored vegetable juice would rapidly be approaching room temperature.

"It must be strange," the ANBU broke the silence with a thoughtful tone, "To be in the village again after so long. Eight months, wasn't it?"

"And three weeks," Harry said. He frowned, considering carefully before continuing, "It _is_ strange. Especially since I'm staying here now—I've never even seen this place before." He shook his head and ran a hand through his messy hair, "I don't know, it's both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, if you know what I mean. I don't think I'll really feel like it's over and I'm home until I'm back in my apartment with Kakashi-niisan, and doing training with my team again."

It had been a long time since he'd seen his teammates; it had been a while since he'd even _thought_ about them, truthfully. Harry was surprised to realize just how _much_ he missed them: Hitsuya-sensei, Inaho, and even Migaki. A wave of homesickness that was more poignant than any he'd felt in a while swept over him, and the irony of the fact that he was feeling it now that he was back in Konoha was not lost on the Genin.

Suddenly, Harry wasn't very hungry, either.

Suzume was watching him closely when he looked at him again—watching his reaction, Harry realized with a sense of violation. He scowled, sliding his food tray back, and was about to stand up, but the ANBU spoke before he could excuse himself.

"Is it really better here than the place you've been staying for these last eight months?" The masked man asked insidiously, "You obviously aren't comfortable here—you don't belong here. After such a long amount of time, it wouldn't be surprising if you'd formed… attachments."

Harry immediately thought of the people he'd left behind in England—unbidden memories of Sirius, Ron and Hermione, and Lupin-sensei surfacing in his mind. The idea of never seeing any of them again suddenly followed up his homesickness with a secondary bout of depression.

Despite his best attempts, he _had_ grown attached. They didn't even realize how much he appreciated their help and friendship while he'd been stuck at Hogwarts, and now he'd probably never have the chance to tell them.

With an effort, he shrugged the feelings off, burying it deep in his mind. They were wizards—they'd sided with the same person who stole him from his home and attempted to force him to fight a war on foreign grounds. He shouldn't have feelings for any of them.

"My friends are here," Harry muttered half-heartedly, "I'm a Leaf shinobi, Konoha is where I belong." He stood, looking at the air above the ANBU's head. "I need to go."

Suzume made no attempt to stop him, and Harry left the room just as quickly as he could without obviously fleeing, his thoughts in turmoil.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat slumped on the small, hard bed in his cell, wondering how things had fallen apart so quickly. Of course, he'd known things would be bad if they barged into Konoha like they had, but he had never imagined the Third Hokage would be so much less reasonable than the First and the Second.

Either of the brothers would have at least heard him out before throwing him in chains, he thought, if only because they had been so fascinated with everything he could show them—with a wide new world they had never even begun to imagine until he opened the door.

His contact with the Third had been limited to a brief conversation over a despondent six-year-old boy, but the man had struck him as trustworthy. When Harry had first refused to learn at Hogwarts, however, he'd attempted to contact the man—and had been met with little more than a handful of sharp words that boiled down to "Mind your own business."

Yet he'd allowed Harry to convince him that petitioning the Sandaime for help would be easier than tracking Voldemort down themselves; and while it may have been, had the Hokage been inclined to listen, he had not, and things were worse off than before.

He turned his thoughts to the young boy he'd dragged into the middle of things and wondered, yet again, if it was really for the best. Was this one boy so important in the battle against evil? But he'd heard the prophecy with his own ears, and he'd seen the results of the killing curse with his own eyes. There was something special about Harry; he didn't know what, but he knew the boy was pivotal to their triumph over Voldemort.

He would gladly hoist the cross of these unforgivable sins upon himself if it meant the salvation of the wizarding world.

But if Harry was really to be executed…

The old wizard frowned, coming to a decision. He would have to take drastic measures to ensure he and the boy escaped this village and confronted Voldemort. Harry would probably go with him willingly enough, to save his brother and his own life, as well, so it was a simple matter of escaping his cell.

Standing, Dumbledore cleared his mind, slowly falling towards the almost trance-like state that would allow him to perform magic—even lacking his wand.

A clunking at the door disturbed the calmness settling over him and broke him out of it before he could begin the spell. The old man's blue eyes flicked open, narrowing in on the pair of masked young men who stepped through it. The one on the right was holding a set of handcuffs—heavy looking manacles connected to each other by a solid, metal bar about ten inches long.

The one on the left said something, frowned, and then spoke again in a slow, awkward, and terribly accented English. "You… are to… come with us…"

Dumbledore could tell, simply by the way he recited the words, that he had no idea what he was saying. Or, at the very least, he didn't comprehend the individual words. He was repeating them, like a parrot, and there was no way for the British wizard to reply.

Arching an eyebrow as the one with the manacles approached him cautiously, Dumbledore held his old, weathered hands out, and saw the eyes behind the mask flicker briefly towards his partner. The wizard smiled faintly—it must seem strange to them, taking such extreme measures to secure a feeble old man.

It really was ridiculous. He was a wizard, not a ninja, and he already knew there was no way he could overpower the two exceptionally healthy young men in front of him. Not without his wand. Not unless he was given the opportunity to concentrate on a work of magic.

Closing his eyes as the cuffs clapped harshly around his wrists, Dumbledore began to clear his mind again, legs moving mechanically as he was led from the room.

He wondered whether Harry was locked in a cell similar to his. He imagined the boy would be as tough as he'd been when he was held at Hogwarts, although he couldn't be certain that he would be so unruly. Would Harry attack his own people in a bid for freedom? The wizard wasn't sure.

Long seconds passed before he was grasping at the slippery energy he knew as magic, heavy around his body. Carefully, tentatively, he began coaxing it, willing it with his mind to form itself into something tangible—to become solid enough to knock his two guards off their feet.

The man on his left grunted something and pulled at him harshly—Dumbledore nearly tripped on the first step of the stairs in front of him, and his mind was jostled enough that he was forced to temporarily abandon his attempt at wandless magic. His eyes snapped open, and he took in the details around them.

The spacious halls they moved through were empty, and the sky was pitch-black beyond large windows. He was escorted through several corridors and ushered down another staircase before he was finally waved into a room.

The Third Hokage himself sat inside, calm brown eyes on his as he was escorted to a hard chair in the middle of the room. The two masked guards left, leaving him with the Hokage—and a man who stood to his right, hidden mostly in the deep shadows around the perimeter of the room.

Dumbledore raised his arms pointedly, "Are these really necessary?"

"You're under suspicion of criminal activity," the Hokage replied succulently, "You will be treated as such."

Dumbledore allowed his shackled hands to rest in his lap again, eyes narrowing. "So I have gathered. And Harry is under suspicion of criminal activity, as well?"

"Harii is convicted of criminal activity," the Hokage dismissed.

The man in the shadows said something—Dumbledore was only slightly surprised by the young tenor in his voice; he already knew that Konoha trained their shinobi young—and the Hokage glanced at him. When his eyes returned to Dumbledore, they were a touch harder than they had been before.

"It has been some time since I have worked an interrogation, so I hope you will forgive me for being a bit rusty," the Hokage said flatly, "Unfortunately, we do not currently have interrogators fluent in English—an oversight that will soon be remedied—so we are forced to make do with things as they are."

He leaned forward, over the desk he sat behind, expression suddenly becoming a bit more malevolent. "I want you to tell me exactly how Harii and his brother came to be in your country, Dumbledore-san," he said coldly, "I'm afraid your life—and the boy's—depend upon it."

* * *

Uchiha Satori was immediately on the alert when he sensed a group of chakra signatures approaching the forest swiftly. With a soft order into his headset, his team paused in their patrol, hiding themselves in the trees near the edge of the forest. He tensed in his hiding place, silently drawing a kunai.

Chances were good that it was a Leaf-nin team and they were getting worked up over nothing. It might even be Shin's team—one of his teammates had alerted the village to their impending arrival the day before. But this team was coming in faster than commissioned Leaf teams usually traveled in friendly territory, and if it had been ANBU, he wouldn't have noticed them so easily.

The Sharingan spun to life in his eyes, peering out for the first sign of movement in the trees and underbrush ahead of him. His eyes finally focused on the rustling in the leaves, and then the figures came into existence, bursting through leafy underbrush—three men carrying a fourth. Satori recognized Hota Shin, and the unconscious man his teammates were carrying. He relaxed, quickly sending the orders for his team to stand down and allow the group to pass.

Satori watched their passage until the four were safely away from his checkpoint, and then ordered his team to resume their standard pattern.

Despite the ease of the transaction, Satori continued to feel on edge, the Sharingan remaining bright in his eyes. He didn't sense any threats, but there was something strange teasing at the edge of his awareness.

For an instant, he thought it might be ANBU, trailing and guarding Hatake Kakashi, perhaps. But he knew what the ANBU felt like, and this wasn't that. His eyes narrowed, scanning the forest again, and he wondered if the strain was giving him exaggerated paranoia. Perhaps he needed to request a brief leave—then he saw it.

Or, rather, he _didn't_ see it, and that is what caught his attention. His eyes tracked the movement of something very fast, shooting through the air and rustling leaves as it passed—but there was nothing there; it was as if a very localized gust of air was ripping through the forest.

And then there _was_ something there.

For a moment his eyes managed to focus, and he saw a strangely dressed man—perhaps a monk of some bizarre cult by the look of his long hair and black robes—apparently riding on a thick branch. The next instant, the figure was slipping out of focus again, but Satori had seen enough.

He let his kunai fly, not even certain whether it would be able to strike the phantom or not. The familiar _thunk_ of impaling flesh was pleasantly human, along with the pained grunt that accompanied it. Satori's eyes tracked the man's fall to the ground, and he was at his side almost before the body hit.

Even with the intruder right in front of him, the Sharingan struggled to focus. Satori formed the ram seal and focused his chakra. "**Kai!**"

His Sharingan could see through all but the most powerful of Genjutsu, and so he was prepared for a great amount of chakra to be required to dispel the man's jutsu, but it proved even more difficult than he'd guessed and left him breathing heavily. Still, the injured man was now solid and visible in front of him; a white mask covered his face, but if there was any image on it, he couldn't see what it was, as it was partially obscured by the long, pale blond hair falling in front of it. One arm was clutching at his blood soaked shoulder, just below where Satori's kunai was deep in his flesh, and what Satori had taken to be a large branch was a short distance away, revealed as a broom.

Satori grabbed the man by the front of his black robes and used a kunai in his other hand to knock the man's mask out of the way, revealing a pale face contorted with pain and fear—definitely _not_ ANBU. He held his blade to the man's neck threateningly.

"Who are you?" He demanded viciously, "Who do you belong to?"

The man looked further terrified at his words and his babbling reply caused Satori to stare. It was a language he'd heard only once before, a long time ago, and with only a small selection of words, but he recognized the unusual syllables and the overall sound of the strange language.

As a boy, he'd once heard Hatake Sakumo use the same language, presumably as an insult to their clan head. And, while he'd never heard the boy use it himself, he suspected it to be the language the bastard Hatake brat once spoke, as well. Considering who the man was following, it wasn't difficult to put the pieces together.

His grip tightened and the man fell abruptly silent.

"How are you connected to Hatake?" He demanded.

The intruder didn't seem to understand, a fresh stream of nonsense bubbling from his lips. Satori jerked him, drawing blood from the man's neck—his outraged cry quickly fell silent under the Uchiha's glare.

"The man you were following," Satori elaborated impatiently, "_Hatake Kakashi_."

His prisoner's eyes widened. "Kakashi!" He repeated before continuing on another unintelligible litany.

Satori silenced him with the impact of the butt of his kunai to the man's temple—he sagged into unconsciousness and Satori regarded the form with a small frown. While he hadn't been able to gather much from the stranger, he had confirmed his suspicions regarding a connection with Hatake. He wondered what secrets the traitorous Hatake clan was hiding. Perhaps they were after the seat of the Hokage themselves, and were bringing in foreigners as their army.

He activated his radio. "There's something suspicious I need to investigate further—continue patrol and report to Shiro until I contact you again."

Satori waited a moment for the confirmations to roll in, along with Shiro's predictable offer to provide him with backup.

"Negative, Shiro. Continue the pattern with the others," he responded, shutting off his radio without waiting for the reply. He turned his eyes back to the unconscious stranger.

The Hokage would want to be notified of this. More importantly, Fugaku would want to know. Perhaps this could give them the advantage he was looking for.

Slinging the intruder over one shoulder, Satori grabbed the man's broom and sped off in the direction of the Uchiha compound.

* * *

Harry didn't see Suzume at breakfast the next morning, for which he was relieved. He still wasn't sure what to make of the ANBU, and his strangely prodding questions. He'd felt rather like he was being assessed—for skills, loyalty, and information. Like he was interrogated without the cell or the threat of torture… at least, without any _spoken_ threat of torture.

"Hatake Harii."

Harry looked up in surprise to see a pair of monkey-masked ANBU in front of him, appearing identical except for slight differences in the stylization of the faces on their masks. Even their build was the same, and the cut of their spiky black hair.

"… Can I help you—ANBU-san?" He glanced from one to the other, unsure of which had spoken.

"Hokage-sama has requested we join you for training today." The words could have been coming from either of them—or both. Despite how close they were, Harry still couldn't tell.

"… Okay," Harry said reluctantly, standing. "What should I call you?"

"Mashi is fine," this time Harry was almost certain they had spoken in tandem. Was one a clone? If it was, he couldn't tell the difference.

Swallowing with trepidation, Harry nodded.

Without another word, they turned, silently walking side by side to the cafeteria door, where they paused to look back at him. Taking the hint, Harry abandoned what was left of his breakfast and followed them into the hallway.

The corridor was just wide enough for three men to walk abreast and the two ANBU took advantage, hanging back until they flanked Harry on either side.

Like an escort, Harry thought nervously.

"Mashi-san is my brother," the one on Harry's left said abruptly, and Harry looked at him with surprise, relieved, at least, to be able to tell which one was talking.

"It's only fair that we tell you, since we'll be sparring," the one on his other side said, as though he'd been the one who'd spoken in the first place.

"We were raised together," the one on Harry's left continued as though he'd never been interrupted, "So we know each other's minds intimately."

"Some say it's like fighting two parts of the same person," the other continued, "Only it would be a mistake to assume that means we fight alike."

Harry looked from one to the other in bewilderment, struggling to follow the conversation and feeling a strange sense of déjà vu at the same time.

"Our styles were honed to complement each other," the one on the left said, "Rather than mimic."

Suddenly, Harry recalled when he'd felt like this before. He hadn't spoken to Ron's brothers often, but the twins had a way of going back and forth that boggled a mind if it wasn't sharp. "You're twins, aren't you?" He asked, frowning between the two men. He didn't know of any twins in Konoha—the first pair he'd ever met were the Weasley twins—it was strange to find a set right before him all of a sudden.

The masks rattled, tilting in exactly the same manner at exactly the same time.

"You're quicker than most," the one on the right said.

"This might be fun, after all," the one on the left added.

* * *

"How is he?" The Sandaime asked, allowing only a small amount of concern for the young man to appear in his voice while his face was a mask of calm acceptance.

"His chakra is dangerously low and doesn't seem to be replenishing itself effectively," the medic at his side stated, frowning deeply under a thick mustache as he reviewed the notes on the Jounin's clipboard.

"The lacerations in his leg have taken to their first treatment well, but we need twenty-four hours to ensure there will be no complications from infection before we can heal them completely," he continued, flipping the page, "The muscles in his right arm appear to be unusually strained and weak—in fact, his entire musculature system seems to have undergone unusual stress and obtained damage like we've never seen before—but it seems to be accepting the standard treatments from what we have observed thus far."

Sarutobi nodded his understanding. "When can we expect him to wake?"

"We're going to keep him sedated for the first seventy-two hours, at least," the medic replied, "By then his leg should be healed and we hope a functional amount of chakra will have replenished in his system."

The Hokage frowned, "Can't you wake him sooner?"

The medic's ever-present frown ticked deeper, forehead furrowing. "We could," he admitted reluctantly, "But for this patient… we believe it is best that he is in operable condition prior to regaining consciousness, lest he further complicate his recovery."

The Sandaime stared at the man blankly—he'd never heard of such an unusual treatment plan before. The medic shifted slightly with discomfort, forehead furrowing further.

"This _is_ Hatake Kakashi, after all, Hokage-sama," he supplied blithely, as though in explanation.

Frowning, the Hokage considered his words for a moment—and recalled the numerous complaints filed by his medical staff, reporting that the shinobi had _discharged_ himself early, or exacerbated his injuries with undue activity before he was fully recovered. His lips quirked in a slight smile.

"Yes, this certainly is Hatake Kakashi," he agreed, "Very well; I want to be alerted immediately when he regains consciousness."

"Yes, Hokage-sama."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy returned to consciousness slowly, not quite sure what had happened. The first thing he was aware of was his throbbing head, quickly followed by the chill of cold against his bare back and arms. His hands were tied behind him and when he opened his eyes, he couldn't see.

The wizard fought down the urge to panic as his heart beat louder in his chest and his breathing became just a little more ragged. Suddenly, he recalled what had happened to put him in this position. There had been a foreigner, who had somehow seen him despite the disillusionment charm he'd cast on himself. It should have been impossible—but, then again, Kakashi Hatake shouldn't have had the stamina to run so quickly after everything he'd been through.

Vaguely, he wondered why he was alive. From what his lord had told them, he would have expected to be killed by the barbarians on sight. Not that he was complaining—as long as he was alive there was a chance he could bargain for his freedom. All men had baser instincts to satisfy, no matter how strange their culture, and Lucius was very familiar with satisfying baser instincts.

Lucius looked up quickly at the soft sound of a door sliding open—the light that met him was bright and made him cringe, squeezing his eyes shut only to open them again, slowly, as he felt hands on his bare arms, dragging him to his feet. It took a moment for his legs to agree to hold him up, but his escort gave him the time he needed before roughly guiding him to the door.

The wizard didn't bother asking where he was being taken. He'd find out soon enough and chances were good that the man didn't speak English.

It wasn't until he'd stepped onto the slightly raised floor of the hallway, paneled with rough wood, that Lucius realized they'd gone so far as to remove his socks and shoes, as well. His lips curled in distaste at the savagery of it all even as he bitterly reflected that he should possibly be feeling thankful for retaining his trousers.

There were no windows, but a soft, muted light seemed to emanate from the white walls on his right. He saw no one, other than his escort, although, he wasn't sure if that meant no one was home or they'd simply been warned to keep clear ahead of time. He wasn't even certain it _was_ a home, although it didn't appear to be a dungeon.

His escort—a wide-shouldered young man with long, uneven black spikes of hair; he looked remarkably similar to the vague image he held in his mind of the man that had attacked him in the forest—pulled his arm roughly to stop him and turn him towards a portion of wall. Lucius didn't have time to wonder about it because the man had reached out, and was sliding open a door the wizard hadn't noticed was there. He realized then that they had likely passed several on the walk down the hall.

The room was small, but brightly lit, bare except for two pillows positioned on the middle of the floor. Lucius's escort dragged him towards the nearest pillow, pausing only a moment to shut the door, and forced him to kneel on the pillow. When he was apparently satisfied with the wizard's position, he retreated, placing himself in front of the sliding door they'd entered through.

Lucius held himself still despite the subservient position, with his back straight and his head raised proudly—defiantly—and waited for what would come with as much dignity as he could muster.

Time wore on—the guard didn't shift or say a word, apparently unperturbed with the lengthy delay. Lucius struggled to compose himself likewise, although his legs were falling asleep underneath him and his arms and back were uncomfortably strained and stiff.

At last, the wall—door—in front of the wizard slid open. A tall man with broad shoulders, a stern face, and limp black hair framing his face, stepped quietly inside. He paused, sliding the door shut behind him, then padded, barefoot, across from the door to sink slowly onto the second pillow in the room.

He stared, straight into Lucius's eyes, with an unwavering gaze of deep black. Lucius's eyes narrowed in response, but it didn't cause the other man to so much as blink. Their eyes held, locked, for nearly a minute, Lucius fighting the temptation to look away from the unnerving gaze. He was a _Malfoy_, dammit, and would _not_ be cowed by some backwater foreigner.

At last, the man spoke, and it took Lucius longer than it should have to realize it was English. His words were slow, almost stumbling, and heavily accented. Lucius had to wonder if he'd ever heard the language spoken out loud before in his life; considering where he was, there was every likelihood that he had not.

"I am called Uchiha Fugaku."

Lucius inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, once he'd worked out what it was the man had said, and responded in like, purposefully slowing his speech. "I am Lucius Malfoy."

The man wasted no time coming to his point—Lucius supposed it was just as well, as small talk would have been tedious with such an unintelligible partner. "What do you have with the Hatake, Lucius-san?"

Lucius hesitated, considering the best way to answer the awkwardly formed question. If the man was anything like the infamous Sakumo, or even Kakashi, then an outright lie would never work. Besides, he'd been caught tailing Kakashi in a very suspicious manner. A half-truth would be the best, then.

"Hatake had an agreement with my master," he explained slowly, watching Uchiha for indications of understanding. "We helped him return to this land, and he was to bring us before your leader. However, once we arrived in your land, he chose to disregard his promise and attempted to escape us. I was sent to follow."

Uchiha was silent for a very long time. Long enough that Lucius was considering repeating what he had said, rephrasing it in a way that might be easier for him to understand.

"What do you have with the Hokage-sama?" Uchiha asked at last, breaking the silence before Lucius could speak.

"Hokage-sama?" Lucius repeated slowly, frowning at the unfamiliar word. "Is that the name of your leader?"

Uchiha nodded, a slight inclination of his head. "Yes."

"We mean no ill-will," Lucius quickly assured him. "We mean to ask him to form an alliance against our mutual enemies."

Uchiha frowned, "What enemies?"

Lucius hesitated again—Hatake had said these people were unfamiliar with wizards, although they seemed to be familiar enough with magic of some sort. They were like a species unto themselves, he supposed, isolated for countless years from the _real_ people on the mainland. Not so dissimilar to Centaurs or House elves that had been left to their own devices long enough to become dangerous. He would have to word his response carefully.

"The… people who… initially took Kakashi and his brother from your land," he said at last, satisfied with his explanation.

Uchiha nodded again and motioned for him to continue—Lucius wasn't sure what he wanted to hear.

When the wizard said nothing, he offered another prompt. "Why did the Hatake break his—_promise_? If you truly have such _friendly_… intent?"

"… I cannot speak for him, of course," Lucius supplied cautiously, "But, from what I understand, he did not believe we had purely _friendly intent_."

Uchiha stared at him blankly for a long moment, then he laughed—once, and it wasn't an altogether pleasant sound. "You say the Hatake was not fool? I am not fool, either, Lucius-san. Your _intent_ is not _purely friendly_."

Lucius wasn't sure how to respond. If he denied the claim, it could be misconstrued as a sign of guilt. If he apologized for the perceived insult, it would be taken as an admission of guilt. He said nothing.

"The Uchiha Gouzoku is interested in talking with your _not friendly _master. Perhaps we can come to exchange loyalty," he looked up at the pale-haired man intently, "Do you believe your master would be… interested?"

Lucius's slate blue eyes were bright—perhaps he'd make it out of this situation alive, after all. And, even better, perhaps he would have the chance to bring allies to his lord.

* * *

Dumbledore lay on his cot, struggling to breathe deeply as the old pain ached heavily in his chest. It was an injury that had never fully healed after his encounter with Voldemort at the Ministry; the effects of an insidious curse that he had been unable to fully defeat.

While he'd spent a month in St. Mungo's, he'd taken some satisfaction in knowing that Voldemort had been laying low—recovering, he presumed—for a good five times that long.

Unfortunately, Voldemort seemed to have completely recovered from his own attacks, while this parting gift from his old student continued to irritate him—especially now that he'd been unable to administer his continued treatments.

His chest heaved with another slow, laborious breath that almost didn't seem worth it for the scant amount of oxygen it took in.

Albus struggled against the temptation to give his tired old body a rest from the arduous task breathing had become—his swollen face and aching joints certainly didn't help matters.

But he had a task to complete. If he gave up now, everything would be for nothing. Voldemort would rise to power, Harry would be killed—one way or another—and the wizarding world would fall into ruin.

He heaved another breath into his throbbing lungs and let his eyes slide closed. Reaching out for magic seemed surprisingly easy—perhaps because his mind was already so consumed by the simple task of breathing—focusing it, clearing it of everything else was a simple task.

He needed—"Accio… wand," he breathed tiredly, allowing the magic around him to flow through him. He would deal with the consequences of his rebellion once he was at his peak again. With his wand, he should be able to get both himself and Harry out before the shinobi could respond.

Albus stared up at the gray ceiling overhead, struggling to breathe and wondering if the spell had failed after all, when nothing happened for several long seconds.

Then, at last, he heard it. A faint, but unmistakable clatter of something small against the thick, airtight door.

Dumbledore sighed out and allowed his eyes to slip shut again; a wave of desperation washing over him. His next breath was more difficult than ever, and his heart seemed sluggish in his chest.

A wry, tired smile crossed his lips and he wondered if this was to be the end of the once magnificent Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.


	30. Cursed

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: As always, I don't own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_.

I want to apologize profusely for how long it took this chapter to get up... I've been through about three re-writes of the first half of the chapter before I found something I was happy with. I think it turned out fairly well, and I hope you find it worth the wait.

As a reminder, I want to set the stage back in Konoha again: Naruto and Sasuke are six and nearly seven, which sets us as a little over a year, give or take a few months, before the Uchiha massacre. Itachi, therefore, is not a part of ANBU yet, although he is already a Chuunin.

The next chapter... I hope it'll be up on December 1. I'm going away over Thanksgiving and there's a 4 hour flight followed by 1-2 hours in the car... so I'm hoping to get a good chunk of writing done then and get the next chapter out in a timely manner.

As greywizard-dumblemort pointed out, Voldemort doesn't use a broom to fly. Well, it _is_ canon, so I changed that piece of things. I also changed a small piece near the beginning because after thinking about it further, a shinobi battle probably isn't going to last more than a couple of hours, and certainly it should be over well within 2-3 hours unless the fighting is done in waves or mostly with Taijutsu... so I shortened the duration of fighting that took place in the time just before this chapter. Thank you for your patience, and the next chapter should be up soon.

Chapter 30 – Cursed

It was a slow, groggy sort of waking that found him, and Kakashi struggled to shake off the clinging drowsiness, certain that he needed to be alert—Voldemort was out there, and if not him, then the Sand-nin.

A wave of disorientation washed over him as he became aware of the firm, but comfortable, mattress under his back, the ease of movement in his limbs, and the general feeling of well-being that had been absent from his life for weeks—months, even.

Best of all, he could feel the familiar warmth of chakra pooled inside of him. It was much less than he was used to commanding, but enough that he was certain he could run if he needed to, and considerably more than he'd housed for several weeks, at least.

The smell of the air was familiar—and not altogether unwelcome. Everything held an air of familiarity and comfort that worked against the sense of urgency he was attempting to draw upon.

At last, his eyes eased open and he found himself staring up at the white ceiling of Konoha General Hospital. For a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the sensation of being _home_. But only for a moment.

His arms were heavy, but he managed to lift one, reaching across to pull out the needle running tubes into his other arm. A bleating tone that he hadn't really noticed turned into a shrill wail and he turned to glare at the machine at his bedside, just out of easy reach.

Listlessly, he slowly worked himself upright, into a seated position, and slid his legs over the side of the mattress. He wondered if he was really back in Konoha, or if this was all some sort of trick. Some kind of intricate illusion he was trapped in.

Shaking the irrational thought from his head, he turned to stare at the door expectantly. For several long seconds it remained exactly as it was, not budging in the slightest. He frowned beneath his mask, suspicion growing. If he was really in the Konoha General Hospital, a medic would have been in to check on him now. But if he wasn't, he should at least be able to tell that the Genjutsu was there, but everything felt completely real.

He slid onto his feet, only avoiding a fall to the floor by the grip he had on his bed, prepared for the weakness he felt from waking up in the same condition countless times in the past. His left leg ached, but the pain was nothing compared to what he remembered. Slowly, his legs regained their strength, suffering to hold him upright, and he was able to shuffle across to the machine and pull the plug.

The mechanical wailing stopped; Kakashi looked at the door again. Still nothing. He moved towards the window. The heavy tiredness of extended unconsciousness dragging at his limbs still clung to him, but it was easing with every move he made. Even if this was some sort of illusion, he still felt a familiar swell of relief and belonging as he looked out over the village of his birth. Was it possible for the wizards to create such an intricate illusion of someplace they had no knowledge of?

The sensation of security was short-lived as his eyes snapped towards a cloud of dust bursting into the air near the Hokage Tower, the building trembling underneath it. Then he noticed the smoke; lazy streams of it rising into the air from various areas around the village. It took longer to catch sight of the small figures, darting between distant rooftops and clashing together with fire, blades, and blood.

Kakashi felt a chill through his bones and horror pooling in his chest. He didn't know how or who, but they were under attack. And it didn't look good.

The Jounin moved swiftly, searching until he found his clothes in the bottom of the small closet in his room. He quickly divested of the hospital drabs, pulling on his more familiar uniform. It wasn't stained or torn, so he supposed someone had gotten him a spare from his apartment. He quickly noticed that they hadn't thought to bring him weapons, as well. There was nothing for it, though; he'd have to try to find some on his way.

Crossing to his door, he threw it open. A young woman squeaked in surprise, stopping momentarily to stare at him before hurrying on her way, arms heaped with fresh white bandages, hardly even sparing the Copy-nin a second glance.

Kakashi hurried after her. "What's happening?" He demanded.

"Somarei-san needs more bandages for the injured," she explained, hurried words flustered, "So I'm—"

"No," Kakashi interrupted harshly—the startled girl stared at him with wide eyes. "I mean out _there_," he clarified, one arm waving in the general direction of the Tower. "Who's attacking? How long have we been fighting?"

He suspected it was Cloud—they'd been pushing their luck at the borders since even before he left. It seemed as though the situation had gotten worse.

The young medic's expression turned blank—dumbstruck—as if she wasn't quite sure how to answer him. Kakashi scowled under his mask and his displeasure shone through his one uncovered eye.

"I was unconscious until a few minutes ago," he explained brusquely, annoyed that an explanation was necessary in the first place.

"Oh!" The girl's face was red and flustered. She hurried to continue walking again, not quite looking at him. "Well, we've been fighting since early this morning—about an hour before dawn."

Kakashi thought for a moment, reflecting on the scene he'd seen outside the windows. It was still very early in the morning, so at least he hadn't missed much. The significance of it struck him suddenly.

That would be during the shifting of the guards—the dread in the Jounin's stomach thickened enough to make him slightly sick. Since when did Cloud have their security monitored closely enough to know the exact moment their attack would be most effective? It seemed that a lot had changed since he had left; or there was something even more dire taking place.

"I can still hardly believe it," the girl added with a near hysterical laugh. "I keep expecting the Hokage to call an end to it and explain that it was all just a drill." She looked at the bandages she was carrying again and a small tremor shook her. "But if it was a drill, they wouldn't be causing so many casualties…"

Kakashi's gut felt icy. She wouldn't be talking like that if this was an invasion from Cloud. "Who?" he asked again, apprehensively.

"…" The girl stared at him, face pale. "The Uchiha," she answered at length, fidgeting under his one-eyed gaze.

The cold knot of dread that had been building in his stomach finally swelled to its largest point. Shit. The Uchiha had betrayed them? He'd known about the suspicions surrounding that clan since the Kyuubi attack, and the tension between Fugaku and the Hokage, but he'd never quite been able to believe that the entire clan would turn traitor. This was the clan Obito was from, and while he rarely met an Uchiha that he liked, he couldn't believe they were all bad.

He had to get out there—he owed it to Obito to stop them. But first he would need weapons.

"Where have the weapons taken off the injured been stored?" He demanded of the young medic.

"Um… I don't think they've had time to put them into storage yet," the girl replied uncertainly, "Maybe… you can probably find some in the lobby. We've been doing urgent first aid there, to stabilize the injured before someone can see to their wounds more effectively."

Kakashi nodded—that was standard procedure in emergency situations; the same procedure that had been put into place when the Kyuubi attacked. He'd be able to borrow someone's weapons easily, in that case. He wished he could get some of his own, but his apartment would be out of the way, and there was no way of knowing whether his things were even still there—he hadn't paid his rent in nine months, after all.

* * *

Harry struggled to keep the blades at bay, but the man had greater arm strength and was slowly bearing down on him. It didn't help that Harry couldn't see properly to fight—forced to keep his eyes averted to below the man's chest lest he get himself trapped in a Genjutsu. It felt like he was in one already. Just yesterday his biggest worry had been about whether his brother was safe with the wizards—and then everything had gone to hell early in the morning, already the grounds around ANBU Headquarters were torn to pieces, with smoldering trees and bodies littered on the dirt.

His breathing came rapidly and his muscles trembled. He had to get out of this. He could feel the Uchiha's breath on his forehead and knew the man had the full advantage. He couldn't break away quickly enough to avoid the retribution of the Sharingan; his movements would be seen before he even made them, a counter put into action the instant he acted.

But he _had_ to do something.

Abruptly, the Uchiha broke off—Harry gasped in a deep breath of air, eyes widening as he felt the wind of a kunai cut past his cheek from behind.

"Keep your guard up, Harii!" A voice hollered at him. Harry recognized it as either one of the Mashi twins. He didn't have time for relief, though, because at the same instant a stream of fire was rapidly eating its way through the air towards him.

Harry barely threw himself out of the way, feeling the heat of it on his back. A surge of panic rose in his chest—he was on fire! The house was burning!—but he forced it down and rolled, half to ensure that he _wasn't_ on fire, and half to present at least the challenge of a moving target.

Rolling to his feet quickly, the heat had passed and Harry focused in on the Uchiha again, following his movements with a barrage of shuriken. Harry averted his eyes at the first flash of red that he saw and leaped out of the way.

The stream of shuriken followed without the slightest hesitation. One caught him in the shoulder before he managed to pull another kunai free and parry the others—five in all. Then the Uchiha was in front of him again and a kick hit Harry solidly in the chest, opened up during his last block. Harry's breath rushed from his lungs and he was falling, reflecting on how pointless all of his sparring against Kakashi had been since he still couldn't match with a _real_ Uchiha.

But he couldn't give up because his brother would never let him live it down—even if the Uchiha didn't kill him first.

Gritting his teeth against the hot pain throbbing through his arm, Harry looped an end of wire around his kunai and let it fly; pulling against the wire to alter the arc of his fall once the blade had sunk deep into the wood of a large tree.

The Uchiha hesitated, not expecting the unorthodox move and Harry grinned under his mask. It was hard because their response time was quick and the Sharingan could match most movements with their most likely follow-through, but even the Sharingan couldn't see _every_ possible move. It didn't show them the future.

Taking advantage of the brief opening, Harry released the wire and dove through the air at the red-eyed man below.

* * *

Straight beams of wood shot out of the sheer wall, one after another in rapid succession, chasing to impale the retreating Uchiha. Tenzou removed his hand from the wall when it became clear the other shinobi had slipped through his trap.

He spun, sword drawn fluidly from the sheath on his back, but the blade was caught on the edge of a kunai, cold black eyes narrowed as they looked up at him. He pressed his advantage of size, twisting his blade as he pushed through with the sword, knocking the boy's weapon from his hand.

"Stop!" The young Uchiha's voice rang loudly between the two as Tenzou's blade arced back around for a final blow. He halted it an instant before it would have broken skin on the boy's neck.

The adrenaline rushing through his veins would hardly allow him to hold still, so he pulled the blade slightly away from the boy, not wanting to injure him accidentally if his arms shook. The boy didn't appear frightened, although his black shirt was dark and damp, soaked with blood in places and sweat in others.

"What do you have to say?" Tenzou growled, heart hammering in his chest. Despite all of his careful watching, he'd realized what was happening with barely enough time. Five more minutes and this wouldn't be an issue. The Uchiha would have murdered the Hokage in his sleep—or tried, at the very least. He found it difficult to look at any of them as anything other than his enemies. The only thing that had saved this one was the Konoha hitai-ate still tied around his forehead.

"I'm… I'm not your enemy, ANBU-san," the boy supplied, voice heavy and tired.

Tenzou might have laughed if he could, but his nerves were too frayed for it. "Don't tell me that the prodigy Uchiha isn't at his father's beck and call."

The boy's eyes flashed with the Sharingan briefly before turning black again. "I'm _not_," he said firmly, "I don't agree with my _father's_ actions in this situation, and I want no part in it." His words were bitter, biting, and brutally honest. Tenzou wondered what had happened, because he'd never heard anything but good about the boy on the Uchiha Compound.

"You have blood on your hands," Tenzou noted suspiciously, although he didn't see any lie on the boy's face—Uchiha Itachi was an infamously good liar. He wondered which of his comrades had been killed by this child and how he could possibly expect to be believed.

The boy flinched, a guilty expression washing across his face for only a moment before the blank mask fell back into place. "Apparently… I didn't know Shisui as well as I believed," he said soberly, "When I told him I wouldn't fight for the Uchiha… he attacked me."

Shisui was another common name on the Uchiha Compound, and often spoken within the same breath as Itachi's. Tenzou felt a surprising sympathy for the boy, and wondered whether he'd really killed his best friend for the sake of Konoha—if it was true, he couldn't very well kill him.

He had an honest look, at least.

"Stay close," he ordered, "Do anything funny and I won't hesitate to kill you." He wondered whether he'd end up being stabbed in the back, and supposed that if he did, he would have it coming to him.

Itachi nodded his acquiesce and fell in beside Tenzou as the teen continued in pursuit after the escaped Uchiha, his trail now a few minutes old.

* * *

Sufficiently armed, Kakashi headed straight from the hospital in the direction of the Hokage Tower. The most important thing was to ensure that the Hokage was safe, and that seemed to be where the majority of the fighting was centered.

Looking down at the fighting from above and somewhat removed, it was easy to see the strategy in the strikes against the village. The majority of the village, including the walls, had been left more or less untouched. The damage was concentrated—mostly around the Tower, ANBU Headquarters, and, to a lesser extent, the Uchiha Compound itself.

This wasn't a blind act of passion, or a desperate act of fury against years of unfair treatment. This was mutiny; a purposeful attempt at usurping the Hokage's power, of taking over the role for themselves. Kakashi wondered if Fugaku honestly believed that any of the village's shinobi would follow him after something like this. And he wondered how long the Uchiha had planned this.

Perhaps the Kyuubi attack had even been orchestrated with just this design in mind, as some suggested. It obviously hadn't gone as planned when the Yondaime had defeated the beast and the Sandaime returned to leadership. Perhaps _this_ was Plan B.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Kakashi drew his borrowed kunai, weighing it in his hand. This model—he thought they belonged to Kichika Natou, and he'd have to thank the older man after he regained consciousness—had most closely resembled his own. It wasn't quite comfortable, but it was familiar enough.

Kakashi threw the blade with deadly accuracy, into the nearest skirmish. The Uchiha noticed it in time to avoid being impaled through the back of her skull, but it was still enough for the pair of Chuunin who had been hard-pressed in the fight to regain their equilibrium. Kakashi didn't linger—he needed to find the Sandaime.

* * *

Harry was breathing hard, a healthy covering of sweat slicking his skin and making his clothing stick uncomfortably. It was a discomfort Harry was well used to ignoring, so he ignored it now and continued to struggle to keep up with the pair of ANBU.

It had been somewhat refreshing to fight with them rather than against them, as he had a few times over the last two days, and Harry imagined he might have enjoyed it under different circumstances. Instead he was still trying to ignore the throbbing from his injured arm and the tingling heat from his back—a mild burn, most likely, although he hadn't had the time to find out.

They had finally managed to disengage from the fighting around headquarters—which Harry had discovered was buried under a park in the northern Fourth Quadrant of the village—and were making for the Hokage Tower. Standing orders for every member of ANBU, one of the twins had explained when they headed out. Harry had agreed, because even though he wasn't a part of ANBU, he knew the importance of ensuring the safety of their leader.

Harry allowed himself a moment to wonder at why this was happening now, so soon after his return. It seemed like an awfully suspicious coincidence to him, but he didn't see how the two events could be linked. As far as he knew, he hadn't even seen any Uchiha since his return. As far as he knew, they didn't even know he was back in the village.

Still, Harry wasn't sure such a coincidence was possible in the world of shinobi. Things that appeared so coincidental were usually planned accordingly.

He saw a flash of green out of the corner of his eye and was moving instinctively to avoid it—it wasn't even aimed at him, though, and Harry's eyes widened with alarm as he looked ahead over its line of attack.

"Look out, Mashi-san!" He shouted. One of the twins leapt instantly to the side, but the jet of light had already hit its mark. The second twin fell forward, tumbling haphazardly from the rooftop.

Harry spun, searching the sky for any sign of their attacker, and then the ground when he saw no sign of anyone in the air.

He barely dove out of the way when a jet of red flew towards him out of nowhere, exploding tiles and wood from the roof below where he'd just stood.

Mashi—the one who had dodged to the side when he shouted—was beside him, the two of them pressed behind a chimney.

"What is that light?" The ANBU demanded, peeking around the edge to search the rooftops for their assailant. "Where is it coming from?"

"I don't know," Harry replied breathlessly, still searching the sky—the red bolt had almost definitely come from above. "I know it's a type of attack. The wiz… ah, the people in the land where Kakashi-niisan and I have been use attacks like that. I don't know of any defense, other than not to get hit in the first place… but I can't see where it's coming from.

"Another!" Mashi shouted, shoving him abruptly, "Move!"

Harry just barely kept his feet underneath him as he stumbled, running clumsily across the rooftop. The spell, which had so nearly hit them, had cut the chimney to ribbons and Harry realized with a start of alarm that it had been coming from almost directly in front of them—and they still hadn't seen anything. It shouldn't be possible.

Wizards weren't particularly fast. Even on broomsticks, it wasn't difficult to follow their movements. He hadn't known it was possible, but somehow they had to be invisible. Dread coiled in the Genin's stomach. It was easy enough to take out a few wizards when you could see where they were coming from—or even if you could just hear their clumsy movements. But in the air they were silent, and how could you fight against an invisible enemy?

"**Kai!**" Harry's head whipped around—Mashi was just behind him again, masked face tilted down slightly in concentration, his back defensively pointed towards Harry.

Harry quickly followed his lead, hoping that it would somehow work. He looked around the sky again, but it was still empty.

"Do you see him?" Mashi demanded.

"No," Harry said, knowing without looking that he wouldn't see him behind, either—not with Mashi watching that side. It hadn't worked—the wizard was still invisible.

"Is it gone?" Mashi asked, sounding slightly confused.

Another jet of light, as if in answer to the ANBU operative's question, appeared in midair, racing towards them. Harry saw it easily, and he threw his kunai towards the source, even as he pushed against Mashi, urging him to move.

"He's invisible," Harry supplied, "And in the air."

"In the _air_?" Mashi asked incredulously, head whipping around to search for him, "You mean he's _flying_? It isn't Genjutsu?"

Harry could appreciate Mashi's confusion—despite the many things shinobi were able to do that looked like magic, they couldn't fly. Some clans were able to manipulate the air in ways that made it look as though they were practically flying, but such abilities usually drew very heavily on their chakra and were hardly worth it in the first place. It should be impossible for any shinobi to remain in the air for so long, let alone to not give off even the slightest chakra signature in the process of it.

"No," Harry agreed, "They don't use chakra like that. But if we can see where the light is coming from, we know where he is at that instant. We just need to react quickly enough to hit him before he moves—he'll probably be flying in a straight line or predictable curve, and his reaction time is much slower than ours, so we should be able to do it."

Another spell hit the tiles just behind them, spraying broken clumps of clay and splinters of wood everywhere. Harry pushed himself to move faster and his legs burned in protest.

"If we run he doesn't seem to be able to hit us," Mashi noted.

Harry nodded in agreement, but his eyes turned back to linger on the rooftop where they'd first been ambushed. "But what about your brother?" He asked breathlessly, "He… might be hurt."

"Which means he won't be considered a threat," Mashi said, not slowing in the slightest, "They will probably continue to target only us. We need to deal with the invisible bird, first, before we can do anything for him."

Harry nodded. "Then let's get him. I think it'll be easier if we split up."

"Just don't go so far that we can't watch each other's backs," Mashi advised. "The best time to get him will be while he's attacking someone else."

Harry nodded again and the two of them veered apart. Harry drew his kunai, keeping half an eye on Mashi. He wasn't sure whether the wizards would target him first, or his ally. Either way, he hoped this plan worked as well as it had sounded in his head, because they all might be dead, otherwise.

* * *

"Hokage-sama!"

At the call of warning, Sarutobi caught sight of the violent green beam of light out of the corner of his eye, but engaged as he was, there wasn't much he could do about it. He glowered at the black-haired traitor he was currently locked in close combat with, flexing his muscles in an attempt to force the younger man at bay.

There was a dull _thud_ behind him; the Sandaime didn't have to look to know one of his men had sacrificed himself to save him from the results of that attack.

The Hokage's brown eyes snapped to Fugaku's smirk with a fiery glare. "What do you hope to gain from this, Fugaku?" He snapped, "Even if you succeed, the shinobi of Konoha will never serve a traitor."

"They will do whatever they must to ensure the continuation of the village," Fugaku countered, "Even if it means serving under the Uchiha Clan." His eyes burned red with the Sharingan, the three tomoe spinning rapidly in each as he grappled for the upper hand.

Sarutobi shook his head in disgust. With a shout of effort, the Hokage managed to offset the younger man's balance. Pressing his advantage, he reinforced his old muscles with chakra and threw Fugaku across the roof with a solid strike to his sternum. The Uchiha choked and continued flying, out of control, until he pitched off the edge of the roof to join the bodies littered on the streets below.

With a burst of smoke, he appeared behind the Hokage, but Sarutobi was already waiting, poised to attack. The instant Fugaku appeared the Sandaime's swords were swinging; a pair of long, curved blades arcing from opposite angles towards the man.

Fugaku just barely avoided being split into two, blocking one blade and twisting nimbly around it and out of the range of the second blade. Both men were breathing hard—the Hokage had been fighting since very early, and although Fugaku had strived to save himself for this moment, he'd been in more skirmishes than intended already. Both were drained, physically, but their resolve was as strong as ever.

All around them the world was in pieces. Shinobi fighting shinobi; invisible assailants somewhere in the sky above them, picking off the non-Uchiha combatants when they lingered in one place long enough for them to make a mark. Both sides were suffering casualties, and the outcome couldn't be anything but bad.

This was the scene that Kakashi found when he reached the tower. He assessed the situation quickly and fought down the urge to jump immediately to the Hokage's side—the old man was holding himself well against the head of the Uchiha clan, and he'd likely only get in the way. The jets of light that appeared out of nowhere, seemingly at random, and rained down on his comrades worried him most. It had to be wizards; somehow they'd turned themselves invisible.

With them backing up the Uchiha, the Konoha shinobi had to constantly watch their backs. Without them, the Uchiha would lose their advantage; it would be a simple battle of numbers and skill.

He shoved his hitai-ate up and scanned the sky with his Sharingan—he'd have to make it quick because he still didn't have much chakra to spare, but with the Uchiha working against them, there was no one else to complete the task.

Kakashi located them quickly—five dark shapes circling the tower like flies around a carcass, shooting their beams of light, their spells, down into the people below.

He squinted, attempting to achieve better focus on the shadowy phantoms of men. They were reminiscent of Dementors, flickering in and out of his vision like a plane of clean glass twinkling in the sun. Despite the difficulty he had focusing in on them, Kakashi was easily able to catch onto the predictability in their maneuvering and use that to fill in the blanks.

He smirked grimly under his mask. They were obviously confident in their invisibility illusion. With the Uchiha on their side, they apparently didn't believe the shinobi below would be able to pinpoint the pattern in their flight while fighting, as well. They very easily may have been correct, but they hadn't counted on Kakashi's arrival. Maybe they didn't even realize he was still alive.

All the better for him.

The Jounin drew a pair of his borrowed kunai—one of the wizards turned suddenly off his course, flying towards him, and Kakashi imagined he must have seen him, perched on a rooftop adjacent to the Hokage Tower. Kakashi's reaction was quick, though. Before any alarm could be given, his kunai were flying.

One struck the man straight in the throat while the other hit him in the middle of his chest. The wizard tipped on his broom and, as though in slow motion, gradually slid from the broomstick only to fall into a dive towards the ground.

Kakashi had already set his eye on another, his kunai impaling him in the general vicinity of his heart while he stuck a third full of shuriken—probably nothing lethal, but almost certainly enough to remove the falling wizard from the fight.

He'd taken out three of them before the other two seemed to realize what was happening.

Kakashi's head was throbbing and beginning to feel light. He felt the slight nausea, a sour taste in his mouth, and knew his chakra was burned down to dangerously low levels. Grudgingly, he pulled his hitai-ate back into place over his eye, feeling blind and vulnerable as the wizards disappeared, his last vision of them swooping down towards him.

He didn't have long to worry about the airborne attackers, though, because the Uchiha had also noticed what he'd been doing, and Kakashi was fighting for his life as a man brutally attacked him, hands bristling with knives and moving rapidly as though he hadn't been fighting for nearly an hour already.

Kakashi's first few blocks were clumsy, thrown up without thought as he took a moment to regain his equilibrium and adjust to the dangerously low supply of chakra he had in reserve. He couldn't allow himself to black out, but he did allow himself an instant to wonder how he was going to survive this.

With such an abruptness that the Uchiha didn't even see it coming, Kakashi switched from defensive to offensive, exploding into motion.

* * *

The world would dissolve into chaos, if nothing was done to prevent it. Chaos, like the scene stretched out below him. Voldemort was a strong believer that he was one of the few with the talent and cleverness to be able to accomplish such a thing. Albus Dumbledore may have been another, but the staunch old fool refused to accept the responsibility, even when the power to do so was practically thrust into his waiting arms. The Minister Fudge was obviously neither clever enough nor talented enough to make much use of his powerful position. So it all landed on his shoulder.

Voldemort, once he had been allotted the position he deserved in the world, would work steadfastly to stomp out the chaotic nonsense that was wrought by the short-sighted imbeciles that would see their world fall to ruin—and tended to be muggle. He had a slightly more benign view of the magical creatures in the world, most of which were harmless, and would ensure they were each given their rightful places under his rule.

The shinobi, however, were brutal savages, with more innate magical talent than they had sense. They were reminiscent of the giants in that respect—with their squabbling clans high in the mountains—only shinobi were far more dangerous because they were cleverer than even the average wizard. They were very nearly brilliant, and if he was able to control them, they would take him far. However, they were also unpredictable, and their loyalties were more fickle than a werewolf's.

He would have to watch them closely, and once they had served their purpose, they would have to go.

Like feuding prides of vicious lions, they were tearing each other apart below him. It worked wonderfully with his plan, of course. By the time they were through with each other, they'd be halfway to extinction already. He did hope, though, that there remained enough of them to ensure the success of his plan.

A flash of white caught his attention in the masses of fighting beasts. It was a familiar white that stood his hairs on end and brought a sneer to his face. Somehow, the Hatake brat had had the audacity to survive, after everything he'd put him through. Voldemort was more than happy to remedy that mistake personally.

He lowered the tip of his wand, feeling a happy sort of contentment with the knowledge that that bastard's son would be dead at his hands. He only hoped the young man would realize it, somehow, and bring the news of it to his father in Hell, where the man could be tormented for eternity with the knowledge that Voldemort had got the best of him in the end.

"Avada Kedavra," he said lowly, and the green jet of murderous light leapt from the end of his wand. His only regret was that he couldn't stretch it out properly. The one thing that would make the moment that much sweeter was if he could use it to make himself one final Horcrux and earn eternal life.

The satisfaction he felt was quickly replaced by a fresh wave of fury as the Hatake brat abruptly broke away from the worthless Uchiha he'd been engaged with, leaping away just in time. The Uchiha stiffened, hit with the curse that had been meant for his opponent, his face twisted with pain—or horror, Voldemort was never quite sure what his victims felt in their last instant—then he fell forward, dead.

The brat's head turned in his direction, and although he was certain the young man couldn't see him, Voldemort still altered his course abruptly. Looping around behind, he tried again. The shinobi was on alert, though, and he moved out of the way before the spell could make contact for a second time.

He was like an anxious rabbit, jumping away each time the wizard came to bear in on him. This time his dodge was followed up with an attack of his own. Voldemort swooped out of the way with barely enough room to spare, the sound of knives flying past him sharp and loud for an instant. Frustration and anger fueled him as he came around for a third time—he wouldn't allow the young to Hatake escape his you couldn't catch a rabbit with a stick, you simply needed a larger net.

"Expletus Eversio," he hissed, and was satisfied when the entire roof exploded, including the young shinobi in its destruction. The young man was sent flying, the force of the explosion stunning him long enough that there was nothing he could do to stop himself before he hit the side of the next building over with all the force the explosion had given him.

Voldemort grinned with a mad sort of glee, aiming his wand at the falling figure to finish things. A new target entered his sights, distracting him instantly.

Harry was a child, still, but Voldemort was more aware than most of what children could be capable of—and what they could grow into if given the chance.

He would take care of the younger brother first, then—the older brat wouldn't be going anywhere for a while and he had some unfinished business that he simply would not feel complete without finishing. He hadn't been able to prepare for a Horcrux, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make, rather than allow this opportunity to pass him by.

He dove towards the boy, who was distracted by the fighting that enveloped all of his kind. But Voldemort wouldn't repeat his mistakes, and there were other ways, as unstoppable as magic, that would kill just as surely as a well placed curse.


	31. Death

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: As with the preceding 30 chapters, I don't own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_.

I rather like this chapter... it was a lot of fun to write, although it's a little shorter than normal. That's just where it had to end. Anyway, hopefully this fleshes out the rest of the battle nicely, although there are definitely still a number of questions to be addressed before everything's over. Thanks for everyone who reviewed last chapter, I really enjoy hearing your thoughts, even if they aren't completely positive. ;) Anyway, hope you all enjoy chapter 31!

Thanks to giosseppe for catching my typo--when I said Wave country, I meant Wind...

Chapter 32 will probably take two weeks to get up again... so expect it around December 15. (Wouldn't it be awesome if I finished this before the new year? We'll see if I can manage that...)

Chapter 31 - Death

Something heavy hit him hard, out of nowhere. The air rushed out of his lungs and pain flared in his awareness, spikes of it shooting through his injured shoulder and an echoing cry surfacing in his chest, where he'd been hit.

"Harii!"

Before he fully realized what was happening, he found himself falling. He twisted with a groan, lances of pain running down his arm and a protesting ache in his ribs. He landed in a crouch on the street, narrowly avoiding landing on a waxy skinned body with vacant, pale blue eyes.

Harry shivered slightly, edging away from the corpse as he glanced around quickly, searching for whatever had hit him. He slid a kunai from his pouch cautiously and edged closer to the side of the street. There was a bitter, oppressive smell of blood and death heavy in the air around him; Harry had no desire to stay down at the street level any longer than necessary. He glanced up to the towering buildings around him and focused chakra in his legs for a massive leap.

He didn't have the chance to make the leap. Something fast hit him in the throat—the Genin choked and gagged, panic springing inside of him as adrenalin filled him again—and then long, nimble fingers were squeezing ruthlessly around his neck and he couldn't breathe. He was flying backwards, away from the Hokage Tower, propelled by the grip on his throat.

Somehow, through the haze of fear around his mind, he realized that he was still holding his kunai. Desperately, he thrust it upwards and slashed, aiming for the air in front of his throat, where his attacker _had_ to be, even though he couldn't see him.

Red blood sprayed onto him from out of nowhere and there was a furious shout. Harry fell again, flying through the air a moment longer before he hit the ground rolling. A small, hoarse cry of his own tore from his throat as he rolled across his arm.

A wall stopped him and for a moment he couldn't move, overwhelmed by the pain racking his body. His fingers tightened around his kunai and he forced himself up, swallowing painfully through a badly bruised throat.

He peered at the quiet street ahead of him, heart thumping loudly in his head, kunai held in front of him, ready to parry off a third attack.

"Potter," a voice hissed in low, threatening tones. Harry's head snapped towards it and he stared. "Hatake…"

It was a man he'd seen only once before, and then in a dream. Blood soaked his hands and dripped onto the ground from long cuts across his forearms. He had dark hair and red-tinted eyes that reminded him strikingly of the Uchiha they were fighting against. In every dream he'd had, this man was him, and it took a conscious thought to remind himself that it wasn't really him and he wasn't looking into a mirror.

"I'm not entirely sure which of your heritages I despise more," the man said in an almost contemplative tone. "The one thing I am sure of… is that it will be a pleasure to see your corpse before me."

"You're Voldemort, aren't you," Harry prompted quietly, just to be sure that he had it right.

Instead of answering, the man was flying towards him with a speed that nearly matched a shinobi's.

Harry threw himself out of the way and threw a kunai after him—it was off mark, embedding itself into the wall of the building he'd been in front of a moment earlier. Voldemort was already moving towards him again and Harry was forced to run.

* * *

Dumbledore woke with the feeling that something very bad was happening. His chest ached, but that was nothing new; still, a sense of unease pressed against his mind, refusing to allow him to return to sleep. His mind was unusually foggy, and it took longer than it should have for him to realize that he wasn't where he last remembered being—and he wasn't sure how he was alive.

The sheets covering him were white and crisp, and the wood-paneling on the lower half of the walls met with a sterile white at waist height. A heavy looking door provided the only access to the outside world, and a machine at his bedside was beeping out a regular, low tone.

Feeling the aches and pains in all of his joints and limbs, the familiar ones that never ceased to remind him that he was well over a hundred years old, Dumbledore eased himself upright, reaching for his wand only to find it wasn't in its normal sleeve on his arm. In fact, he wasn't even wearing his own clothes, but a light-weight, smock-like blue shirt and slacks.

Feeling more disoriented than ever, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, dangling for a moment over the cold tile floor before he eased his weight onto them. Slowly, he shuffled across to the door, but wasn't surprised to find it locked.

In less than a minute he'd focused his mind and accessed the magic that was all around him. The lock on the door slid open with a soft click at his prompting and he reached for the handle again. This time it turned with ease.

The hallway outside was windowless, reminding him of the hall he'd been dragged down after his less than courteous welcome to Konoha. This hall, at least, appeared a bit more cheery with the partial wood paneling and occasional ink paintings.

At the nearest staircase, he headed down, because there was only one floor above him and it looked no more inviting than the one he was on. Before long he found himself on the ground floor.

The moment he stepped out of the stairwell, he was surrounded by people, hurrying past him in both directions. Others lay on the floor near the walls, groaning in pain from bloody wounds. Dumbledore was about to retreat, but he found that no one was paying him any attention in the first place, so he instead made his way quietly down the wall, attempting not to draw further attention.

Part of him wanted to stop and see if he could help, but something was clearly wrong in the village and he was no healer.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how he'd gotten so far from the Hokage Tower so quickly, but he realized it was a mistake the instant he noticed how isolated they were. He was fighting for his life against an enemy he'd only heard rumors about without any backup. It went against everything he'd learned in the Academy and during his time as a Genin, but there was nothing to be done for it.

On top of that, he was tired and injured—he'd been slowing down and Voldemort was slowly but surely gaining the advantage. Harry didn't know what was special about him, but he certainly hoped he would figure it out soon.

Voldemort flicked his wand and Harry barely managed to roll out of the way of the attack in time. He tossed a couple of shuriken, knowing they would never reach their mark—Voldemort knocked them aside with a casual wave of his wand.

"What's the matter, Harry?" The wizard crooned with a smirk, "Are you getting tired? I'm hardly working up a sweat, anymore."

Harry ignored his goading, taking advantage of the moment to finish a string of seals while his back was towards the taunting wizard. He leapt to his feet and spun, releasing his attack in a torrent of fire—because if there was anyone who deserved to burn, it was the man who was responsible for the death of his family.

For a moment the man looked surprised, and Harry felt a flash of satisfaction because he wasn't able to form his spell in time. Instead, Voldemort was forced to dodge, his speed carrying him out of harm's way before the flames had a chance to do anything more than singe his robes.

Harry was waiting for him, and he swung a fist when the man stopped to pinpoint him again. The wizard grunted as his attack impacted, snapping the man's head to the side. Harry was already slipping a kunai into his opposite hand when suddenly he was thrown back.

Pain lanced through his abused body when his back hit a wall, splintering the thick wood paneling. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened—Voldemort hadn't even appeared to use a spell.

He pushed himself up painfully, but abruptly found that he couldn't move—thick ropes had sprung around his body, tightening soundly around him. Harry struggled, focusing his chakra. He had to get out of this.

A pained cry tore out of his mouth when a sharp blade slid suddenly into his injured shoulder. His eyes widened and turned to look up—Voldemort stood over him, a vicious smirk on his thin lips and a victorious shine in his red-tinted eyes.

The wizard cruelly pulled the knife—a gleaming silver blade with a wicked curve—from Harry's arm again, smiling at the bright red blood running down its edge.

"It's a pity we don't have the time to draw this out properly," Voldemort told him. Harry barely heard him; every part of his body was throbbing in sympathy with his arm. "But you will soon be dead, and that will have to be enough."

Raising the knife high, the man plunged it down again. Another cry of pain tore past the Genin's lips as the blade tore deep into his arm, glancing off bone to cut further into his softer flesh, instead. The pain was overwhelming—and then there was no pain. Harry felt disconnected from himself, from his suffering, like there was a thick, warm buffer between him and the pain he knew was plaguing his body. It was still there, really, but it felt distant and far away from his mind.

It was like entering a dream, where nothing could really hurt him. Through a haze, he could see Voldemort, surreally removing his blade again for what would have to be the final strike. The urgency of preserving his life was far away and the looming threat of death didn't seem important, although he knew it should be.

The blade was slashing down again, a long, horizontal arc that would pull across his neck. The wizard had obviously never been taught to kill, because Harry could rattle off a dozen or so methods that would be more efficient than the one he'd chosen, but it would still do the trick.

With an effort of will, Harry concentrated his chakra.

Voldemort's knife slid easily through his skin, but the moment it drew blood, the Genin disappeared in a burst of smoke, and the wizard found himself assaulting one of the splintered boards from the broken walls around them.

Pain and reality crashed over Harry as he found his feet, just behind the wizard. He swayed perilously; just managing to keep his footing, although everything hurt and it took a mighty effort to remain connected with his body and not allow himself to drift back into another waking dream.

Voldemort was turning; Harry forced his arms to move, even though he could barely feel his hands and even the slightest movement sent fiery waves of pain through his nerves. The wizard's unskilled stabbing hadn't severed his muscles—another consequence of his lack of training, Harry supposed. His fingers fumbled their way through a quick, familiar string of seals almost on their own.

He saw the horror just beginning to fill the wizard's face as the Chidori leapt to life in his right palm, dangerous curls of energy violently circling his wrist and dancing around his hand, the high chirping accompanying it was deafening in the quiet street.

Harry felt a surge of triumph of his own as he thrust his arm forward, aiming for the man's chest—moving with the intent to kill. The chakra abruptly died out, barely singing the front of Voldemort's robes. The wizard still staggered back from the strike, but the damage was minimal compared to what Harry had intended.

The Genin swayed as the sudden chakra drain caught up with him. His knees wobbled, then gave out, sending him to fall clumsily to the ground. He was unable to catch himself, his injured arms refusing to move quickly enough. Harry laid prone, flat on his face, vulnerable and despairing.

This was it. He knew it, and Voldemort knew it, too, if the mocking tone in his distant voice was anything to go by. The street tilted in front of his eyes, and Harry didn't realize he was being hauled up by his hair until he was already upright, staring up at the wizard, who had one hand in his hair and the other holding his knife against Harry's throat.

* * *

It was easy to tell what was happening. Voldemort had attacked the village while he was unconscious. He couldn't see the Death Eaters; not even the most powerful wizard could do that, but he knew they were there by the damage they wrought on the battle raging below them. And he could see traces of the magic they used to hide themselves, like shimmering patches in the air.

Dumbledore gripped his wand, freshly summoned, and searched the sky for signs of Voldemort. While he didn't expect to be able to see the dark lord himself anymore than he could see his servants, he surmised that Voldemort would not use something as mundane as a simple glamour on himself. He would use something more powerful, and the magical signature would give him away.

The old wizard's forehead wrinkled with concern when he didn't find any sign of him, although he supposed it simply meant he was engaged elsewhere. Still, he couldn't see Harry or Kakashi, either, and that worried him further. Surely if Kakashi had survived Voldemort, and Harry the retribution of his village, they would be fighting, as well, and he didn't doubt that Voldemort would target them; wherever they were.

Still, he couldn't very well leave these people to be massacred by enemies against which they had no defense; enemies which he may be inadvertently responsible for bringing down on them simply because of the curiosity of his youth.

He would help out here, and then continue in search for Harry and Voldemort. Silently, he prayed that the boy would be alright without him for some time longer.

Before Dumbledore could so much as whisper a spell, a large form leaped over him from behind. The wizard staggered forward in surprise and twisted to stare, wand raised defensively. All around him giant forms of wild looking beasts were leaping towards the battle in close company with equally wild looking men and women.

A particularly vicious looking woman landed and leaped off of one of the beasts—a fierce looking white and gray wolf—heading straight towards one of the shimmering patches of air. The swing of her blade missed the form by a narrow margin, but two others were also converging on the same wizard. One fell under a desperate counter-attack from the Death Eater, but the final shinobi managed to draw blood, and the fierce woman zoned in on it like a shark, cutting the form in half even as it dived and twisted away from her.

An instant later the shimmering began to fade and Dumbledore's eyes followed the dropping body as it became visible. He stared with amazement as the others attacked in groups—one particularly large and dangerous looking dog took out another shimmering wizard with a slash of its massive claws, and the others were closing in on the remaining Death Eaters.

In tandem with the acrobatic assault, a host of new players had entered the fray below, and men were falling fast. Dumbledore couldn't tell which shinobi had sided with the Death Eaters and which stood against them, but one side was clearly overwhelming the other—and if the beasts and their handlers were any indication, it was Voldemort's allies that were failing.

Confident that his help was no longer needed, Dumbledore whispered a quick locator spell and headed out in search of Harry.

* * *

Voldemort stared down at him, dark eyes flecked with a murderous red gleam, and a cruel, angry expression on his face. Harry took some solace in the realization that he hadn't gone down easily, but it paled in comparison to the fear and despair pumping through him with every beat of his heart.

When it came down to it, he didn't _want_ to die. He wanted to live—together with his brother. He wanted to see his friends again—Tenzou and his teammates. He wanted to see Naruto grow up and he wanted to help him overcome everything that had been stacked against him since his birth.

Abruptly, his despair vanished, and he was filled with a hard resolve. He wasn't going to die. Not here or now and especially not at the hands of this madman who wasn't even a shinobi.

He felt a sudden surge of energy without even really comprehending it, and his hand shot forward again on its own accord.

* * *

Tenzou saw the blade arcing towards him from the corner of his eye, but he knew he wouldn't be fast enough to block it, even as he shifted his weight to alter his trajectory. The Uchiha had anticipated his movements, and his swing was calibrated to match them. Quickly, Tenzou began to channel his chakra for substitution, hoping he'd have time to complete the technique before the sword found its mark.

His body tensed in anticipation, but the blade never connected with his skin. Surprise and relief washed over him briefly as he saw Itachi removing his own short sword from the other Uchiha's kidney.

The fallen man's red eyes were wide with surprise. They narrowed with anger even as the Sharingan bled out, leaving two pools of deep, resentful black.

"Traitor," the man accused hoarsely with his last breath—Itachi calmly extracted his blade and used it to sever the man's neck, ending his life quickly.

Tenzou watched him closely, his years of training to read people suggesting to him that the boy wasn't as emotionless as he appeared. And how could he be? The man he'd just killed was family to him, and at one point the boy might have called him _uncle_.

"Thanks," he grunted, although he was moderately sure he would have completed his substitution in time. "Are you okay?"

Itachi glanced at him and Tenzou was given a better look at his strangely twisted Sharingan. The boy's face remained blank, but he didn't play ignorant concerning the ANBU's question. "That's what Shisui called me before we fought," he muttered in answer. Although his voice was monotone, Tenzou imagined he could hear the pain hidden underneath.

"You aren't, you know," he assured the boy—he'd never thought he would be trying to comfort Uchiha Itachi. "They're the traitors."

Itachi nodded, though he said nothing, cleaning his sword briefly and sliding it in its sheath before he reached out to ease the eyelids of his elder shut.

"Why aren't you helping them?" Tenzou asked abruptly, finally asking what he'd wanted to all along. "You never said, except that you disagree with their decision."

"… It won't work, what they're trying to achieve," Itachi said after a moment of thoughtful silence. He stood and brushed himself off before continuing. "The Uchiha are a strong clan, but Konoha has many strong clans. They can't hope to beat them all. And even if they did, somehow, what good would it do? Cloud or Stone or Sand would swoop in to destroy our remnants."

Tenzou nodded thoughtfully—it was a surprisingly sound reason and sounded like something the boy had put a lot of thought into. "So that's why you aren't fighting with them; but in that case, why fight _against_ them? You could simply sit out of the battle altogether and achieve the same end. Ally yourself with whichever side came out on top in the end."

"… My reason is two-fold," Itachi answered slowly, "I would like to see the village take as little damage as possible, and that requires me to assist whichever side will be the victor. Even though they cannot win like this… the Uchiha can still cause a lot of damage; too much damage and the other villages will attempt to prey on our weakness."

"Also, I have selfish intentions," he admitted, "I hope that the Hokage will see that not everyone in the clan was against him. I hope my actions will make it easier for him to have mercy on me and the others who were not part of this conspiracy when the time comes for judgment to be passed on the Uchiha."

Tenzou nodded his understanding. "I'm sure that after I give my report, your life, at least, will be spared, Itachi-kun."

"…" Itachi said nothing for a long moment, staring blankly into the distance. At last, he muttered, "I also have a brother."

With a sudden illumination, Tenzou understood exactly why Itachi was doing this, and he resolved to do what he could to ensure both brothers survived this.

* * *

The boy was helpless in his hands, unable to even hold himself up, and it was an act of kindness that Voldemort chose to end his misery rather than draw it out further. His muscles tensed in anticipation for his long sought revenge.

Suddenly, white flames leapt into existence around the boy and Voldemort flinched back, afraid of being burned. But the flames were shifting, coalescing around the boy's arm like before, arching like electricity and whining even more loudly than it had earlier. Voldemort felt a fresh lurch of horror, fear and anger. He didn't know what this was, but he knew that it was dangerous, and he knew that he couldn't allow it to touch his body.

But the boy was quick.

Before he had a chance to pull away—or even complete his slash across the boy's vulnerable neck—the energy struck him.

He didn't feel pain; not right away. A wave of shock ran through him when he looked down to find an arm protruding from his chest. The pain followed an instant later, a wave of agony that had him recoiling before his body even realized it was dead.

* * *

Kakashi held back a groan as consciousness crashed down on him again. Everything hurt, and when he recalled the trip he'd taken from the rooftops, he figured he should feel lucky to have survived. He didn't.

Peeling his eye open, Kakashi found himself looking at the ground, his cheek pressed against a cold, hard chest. The stones of the street were sprayed a dark red in the early morning shadows of the buildings around them, and the scent was bitter and telling. It was like the sky had rained blood.

Gradually, he eased himself out of his position, sandwiched between two bodies. The man beneath him was dead—Kakashi could tell simply from the feel of his stiff flesh. The man lying heavily on his legs groaned as Kakashi pulled himself from underneath him, and the Jounin made a quick note of their location in his mind before fumbling for the man's identification tags. The injured man groaned again when he yanked one of the pair free and shoved it in his pants' pocket to take to someone that could help.

Turning his attention upward, the shouting overhead became a little clearer. There was a battle, he reminded himself, and he couldn't sit down here while his friends and comrades risked their lives above him. He moved to stand up.

Biting his lip to hold back a cry of pain, Kakashi quickly aborted the attempt. He must have landed badly—he wasn't as lucky as he had initially though. Peeling back the cuff of his pants' leg, Kakashi inspected the deep bruising he found. He glanced at the wounded shinobi who had been on top of him and wondered whether _he_ was the cause of the break, rather than the fall, because there was more bruising on top than there was below.

Shaking the thought out of his head—because it didn't really matter _how_ it was broken so much that it was, and he was sure the other shinobi hadn't _meant_ to fall on his legs—Kakashi began to tenderly feel his swollen flesh. Until he felt the spike of intense pain that meant he'd found the break.

At least his leg was still in the general _shape_ of a leg.

Glancing around, he reached for the scattered scraps of wood from a broken wall, measuring several against his shin before he found one that would provide him support all the way from above the break to the ground. Using the stained shirt of his dead neighbor, Kakashi proceeded with a crude splint that hurt like hell.

He looked up, at where the fighting would still be going on, and considered that even with a splint like this he shouldn't move around much. But the Uchiha had to be stopped and he wasn't going to be the one to let the village down.

Using chakra, Kakashi bolstered the injured limb and eased himself onto his feet. The pain was sharp, but just bearable. He looked up, concentrating intently on the flow of his chakra, because if it wasn't just right, he'd end up making things worse. His chakra was sluggish in responding and Kakashi again considered calling off his return to the battle—his stores were low and he'd end up causing more harm than good if he got in the way because he was too injured to fight.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think you should be walking on _that_," a voice said behind him.

Instantly, Kakashi spun, kunai flying—the metallic clang of deflections met his ears even as his splint gave out with a crack that must have sounded similar to the original break.

Kakashi caught himself in a crouch and had another kunai in his hand before it even registered who he was attacking. His pulse gradually slowed and he shot the older man a glare.

"And I _know_ you shouldn't be fighting," the man concluded, smirking as he twirled one of Kakashi's borrowed kunai in his fingers. He gripped it, glancing at the small knife contemplatively, "Isn't this one of Natou's?"

"What are you doing here, Genma?" Kakashi demanded irritably, ignoring the question. The older shinobi was no medic, so there was no reason for him to be down amongst the dead and injured when they was still fighting on the rooftops.

The man smiled around the senbon in his lips.

* * *

Harry fell forward with the dead weight, numb with surprise. Everything ached and it occurred to him, on the edge of his conscious thoughts, that it ought to hurt more; but he was too tired to care.

He lay there for some time, on top of the cooling corpse, slowly becoming soaked in a mixture of both their blood. It wasn't until the wetness became very uncomfortable and his extremities numb from the cold, taking the edge off his pain, that he finally rallied the energy to roll himself off of the dead man.

His head turned towards the corpse; Harry felt that he should feel something. He'd killed before—or presumed that he'd killed before, at least—but he'd never actually seen the dead body of anyone he'd fought. Without seeing a corpse, in the heat of the action, it was easy to forget that he'd killed anyone, or simply assume that he hadn't.

But this death rang clearly in his head, and the moment when he plunged his hand like a blade into the man's chest still echoed in his mind, though the memory was a little jumbled and confused by his own pain and exhaustion.

Still, he didn't feel anger or hatred, and he certainly didn't feel remorse. He couldn't even feel revulsion for the mangled corpse or the grime left behind on his arm; he was simply too tired. All he felt was relief, and a distant urging to get up because there were still Uchiha to fight and there were still Death Eaters out there that would undoubtedly be very angry with him for killing their leader.

At last, unable to do anything else, he gave into the persistent pull of exhaustion and slipped out of consciousness, still staring at Voldemort's cold corpse.


	32. Secrets

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: My brain died a few days, and when it revived I realized I still didn't own _Harry Potter_ or _Naruto_.

Finals are (finally) over, and I've already got the next chapter started. I'm hoping it'll be up by next Tuesday, 12/29, but my brother's home visiting from CA, so I can't say for sure. What I _can_ say for sure is, this story is almost over. I've got one chapter and a short epilogue planned, and then that's it. As for the possibility of a sequel... it exists (the possibility), but the plot still has a few details to be muddled out and I've got some real-life responsibilities that will take me offline for a few months, at least, between now and then. I'll update my profile with further details when I'm ready to give them to you.

Thank you, everyone who reviewed 31! I hope you enjoy chapter 32!

Chapter 32 – Secrets

Harry was removed from both the main fighting forces. At first, Dumbledore thought this meant he was still being kept imprisoned below Konoha; what he found was a far more frightening scene.

Dumbledore had always known that it would be up to Harry to kill Voldemort; there was no other reasonable way to stop the mad wizard. He'd imagined that Harry would be older, though, and that he would have gone through his entire schooling at Hogwarts, or close to it. He'd suspected that Harry would need to use some kind of ancient magic; something lost that had been imparted to him, somehow, when Voldemort failed to kill him as an infant.

He had never imagined anything like this.

Voldemort lay on his back in the street, dark eyes staring skyward, fixed in a horrified expression. In his chest was a gaping cavity, blackened and burned, and his arms and robes were soaked in blood. It was very nearly one of the most gruesome things Dumbledore had ever witnessed.

Harry lay beside him, and he might have been dead, too, for all appearances. Blood soaked his clothes and his skin was sickly pale, his eyes shut without the slightest reaction to the wizard's approach. Dumbledore's only reassurance was that his locator spell had successfully pointed him here, which meant the boy could not be dead.

Swallowing thickly and suddenly feeling old and feeble and narrow-minded, Dumbledore shuffled closer to the bodies.

"Harry," he called out as he reached the young Hatake's side, kneeling beside him. The boy didn't even twitch at the sound of his name. Dumbledore sighed, "What have you done to yourself, Harry?"

He glanced at Voldemort's corpse and knew that he wasn't being fair. Harry had done exactly what he'd wanted him to do, although Dumbledore hadn't wanted it like this and he doubted Harry had done it for him in the first place.

Easing himself up again, he pointed his wand at the Genin. "_Mobilicorpus_," he murmured, gently raising the boy's body into the air. "We need to get you to the hospital," he muttered in explanation, although he doubted Harry would hear.

He knew that it was a foolish option on his part, as he steered Harry's body up the street in front of him. If he returned the shinobi would take him into custody again, and they would undoubtedly demand their retribution. Then again, he did deserve it, he knew. He wasn't ignorant of the crimes he'd committed in obtaining the wizarding world's _savior_. He'd betrayed the fragile bond of trust he'd formed with this village long ago, and he'd stolen a boy from his home to achieve his own means, good intentioned though they were.

With Voldemort dead, he had no excuse not to take responsibility for his actions in this matter. And perhaps the shinobi would hear him out; listen to reason and send him on his way.

The wizard grimaced—he very much doubted it.

"It's up to you, now," he murmured to himself, thinking of the men he'd left in England to destroy the remnants of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Once that was done, the dark wizard would never be able to trouble them again, and all of this would be worth it.

* * *

Kakashi glowered up at Genma, even as the older Jounin pulled one final rope tight around him. "Is this really necessary?" He asked irritably.

"The medics say you need bed rest," Genma replied, still smirking unrepentantly, "Lots of it, I imagine, since you let yourself out prematurely once already."

Kakashi eyed the man darkly, and then turned his attention to the ropes, inspecting Genma's handiwork. He'd done well, but Kakashi was certain it was nothing he couldn't handle. "Do you really think this will hold me?" He asked dryly—surely his recently acquired fame credited him with more than this.

"By itself, probably not for long," Genma admitted, the senbon in his lips jumping slightly as he spoke, "But it should do the trick until those drugs work their way through your system."

Kakashi's eyebrow ticked in annoyance. He didn't think _that_ had been necessary, either. "What am I? A prisoner or a patient?" He grumbled ungraciously.

"Both for now," Genma shrugged, "The Hokage hasn't lifted your missing-nin status yet."

_That_ was even more ridiculous, Kakashi thought vindictively, because only an idiot would still believe that he'd abandoned his village after he'd risked so much to defend it. He didn't voice the argument, though, because it would imply he considered the Sandaime an idiot—which he certainly did not. Also, he could feel the drugs making his tongue heavy and didn't particularly want to show the older Jounin just how close he was to succumbing to their pull already.

Instead, he glared.

Genma laughed, "Alright, alright. I get it—I'll get out of your hair now. Let you rest in peace."

It irritated Kakashi that the older man—who he didn't even know very well—could read him so easily. Then again, he supposed there weren't many ANBU or ex-ANBU who felt comfortable falling unconscious around others, even if they _were_ considered allies. Probably, the other Jounin was simply reading his reaction as he would anyone else's in this situation.

It didn't make Kakashi feel any better, and while he was grateful for the man's retreat, he didn't let it show, continuing to glare until the man was out of the room. Finally, Kakashi was slipping out of consciousness again.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there, in a hospital bed, staring up at the drab white ceiling. He had no desire to move, despite the tedium of his existence. He was exhausted, like he'd never thought possible, and it hurt when he moved, anyway, so he simply lay there, staring.

He was vaguely aware of a young medic entering at one point, checking his vitals and changing a bag of fluids he was attached to. Harry didn't feel inclined to speak to him, and the medic seemed content with ignoring his state of consciousness, anyway. He was gone again after the short, silent visit.

When the door opened again, sometime later, Harry expected more of the same. He started with surprise when he saw it wasn't another medic visiting him, but the Sandaime Hokage. Harry struggled for a moment to sit up, and the Sandaime watched quietly until he finally managed it, leaning heavily against the headboard.

"Hokage-sama," he worked out, his throat feeling dry and the words uncomfortable. "Is the fighting over, then? The Uchiha…"

Without having to be asked, the Hokage poured a small cup of water and handed it to the Genin before answering. "Yes, the fighting has been over for some time now—you've been unconscious for three days. The Uchiha are being dealt with. How do you feel?"

Harry self-consciously took a long drink from the small cup, barely suppressing a volley of coughs that followed, and took a moment to take in the Sandaime's revelation before answering. "I feel sore… and tired, but I think I'll live."

"I'm sure you will, Harii," the old man agreed with a small smile. His smile vanished again quickly, "You will be expected to give an account of the last ten months before the elder council tomorrow. Do you think you will be ready?"

"… I'm sure a medic would be able to answer that better than me, Hokage-sama," Harry answered awkwardly—if he felt anything like today, he certainly wouldn't feel like getting out of bed for that. And he hadn't even thought about what he would say in a report—how could he possibly convey everything that had happened in the past year? And what would really be considered important enough to present to the council?

"Shinoda-san assured me you would be able to do it, physically," the Hokage supplied.

"Aa," Harry agreed unenthusiastically. "I'm sure I'll be fine, then, Hokage-sama."

The Sandaime's lips quirked into a smile again. "You don't need to sound so worried, Harii-kun. I will be there, as well."

Harry nodded, although he didn't feel very comforted. He still had no idea what he was going to say, he was simply going to have to fumble his way through a report in front of the council and the Hokage.

"And your brother will be there, as well," the Hokage added, "He will be giving his report just before you. You will be responsible for confirming what he has already told us and accounting for yourself while you were separated."

"Kakashi-niisan is safe?" Harry asked abruptly, completely distracted from the subject of his impending report.

The Sandaime smiled and nodded. "Yes. He is here and he is safe. He's even better off than you are at the moment."

Harry released a sigh of relief and the Hokage moved away from his bed a little.

"I'll leave you to rest, now, Harii-kun," he said genially, "You'll need it for tomorrow."

The Genin grimaced at the man's retreating back, his relief over hearing of his brother's safety tempered by his own impending doom.

* * *

Harry let out a relieved groan once the conference room door had closed behind them. He felt tension slowly easing out of his muscles and stress gradually lift from his shoulders. Everything was going to be alright—somehow, they'd gotten through another disaster.

"That was horrible," he said out loud, catching his brother's eye.

"All things considered, it went pretty well," Kakashi countered with a lazy shrug.

"I thought Bastura-sama was going to burn me to coal just with her eyes," Harry shuddered.

"It's not personal," Kakashi said, "The elders hate everyone." Although when it came to the sons of disgraced shinobi, he supposed it might be a little more personal than in other cases.

"Do you have to report to them often?" Harry asked curiously as they started down the stairs that would take them to the street level.

Kakashi shook his head, "That was only the second time."

Harry stared at him in surprise, "What was the first time for?"

"… I didn't really understand it at the time," Kakashi said slowly, "But they interviewed me in relation to the investigation of the White Fang's disgrace."

Knowing their father's death was a sensitive topic, Harry simply nodded and let the subject drop.

"Something to eat?" Kakashi suggested as they stepped out onto the busy street, where shinobi and contractors were repairing the worst of the damage from the battle.

Harry's stomach growled and he nodded eagerly, "I was so nervous about the debriefing that I couldn't eat breakfast."

"We'll go to Kataka's Diner," Kakashi said, turning down the street in that direction, "Do you need instructions on writing your report?"

The Genin's expression was affronted. "I know how to write a report, niisan!" He said defensively.

Kakashi chuckled softly, raising his hands in apology, "Okay, okay. Sometimes I forget that you're growing up."

Harry glowered up at him a moment longer before turning his attention to the familiar village around him again. It had been a long time since he'd been home, and it felt good to walk the village streets, and to banter lightly with his brother without the pressure of their incarceration pushing around them.

"… I'm glad you're okay, niisan," Harry said softly, not quite daring to look up at his brother—it wasn't much like a shinobi to share sentiments like that.

For several long seconds, silence was his only reply, and then he felt a heavy hand in his hair. Harry looked up in surprise to find Kakashi smiling down at him, his uncovered eye curved in a cheerful arc.

"I'm glad you're okay, too, otouto."

Quickly, a flush of red burned onto Harry's cheeks and, as he overcame his surprise at the uncharacteristic show of affection, he batted his brother's hand away. "I'm not a little kid, niisan!" He cried, "I wear this hitai-ate because I'm an adult!"

The man laughed again. "Okay, okay…" And then, suddenly, the humor had drained from his face, and it was replaced with a serious expression. Kakashi had stopped and as Harry stopped to face him, he stuck out his hand.

Harry stared at it for a moment before uncertainly gripping it with his own. The Jounin gave a firm shake and his dark eye locked with that of his brother's.

"As a shinobi, then, you did well," he said sincerely, "I'm proud of you, Harii."

Harry's cheeks were red again, embarrassed, but he didn't break away this time—not until the moment passed on its own and they continued walking down the road, side by side.

He was glad Kakashi was safe.

* * *

"What happens now?" Harry asked, finishing off the last of his rice.

"Hmm?" His brother asked absently.

"I mean, now that we're officially back in the village," Harry elaborated. "Do we just go back to how things were before? Should I go to my team's old meeting spot tomorrow like nothing ever happened? Are you going back to—_ANBU_?" His voice was hushed on the last word to ensure it wouldn't be overheard by potential eavesdroppers.

"Mm," Kakashi finished the last of his meal and sat back in his seat, looking across at the young teen thoughtfully. "First… you should pay for our meal."

Harry looked at him in surprise, "What? I thought you were buying!"

The man shrugged. "Well, I would, except I haven't had a chance to visit the bank yet, and your Voldemort-san stole my cash." He smiled at Harry expectantly.

For a moment the memory of the wizard's broken chest and bloodstained corpse was predominant in his mind, but Harry forced it aside with a scowl, pushing it to the back of his mind. Standing, he reached for his wallet grudgingly and removed enough to cover their bill, which was most of its contents. "He's not _my_ Voldemort, you know," He grumbled as he did so, "_I'm_ not the one who went _camping_ with him."

Kakashi stood opposite him, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Well, you didn't miss much," he assured the boy with a smile, heading to the door.

Harry followed after him, forcing his mind back to his previous concerns. "So? What's next? And are we going to go back like before or not?"

"We're going to the bank," Kakashi supplied grimly, as though announcing a particularly unpleasant chore. "We need to find out what they've done with our estate, and what needs to be done to get it back in order."

"Estate?" Harry muttered under his breath. He thought that calling a two-bedroom apartment and a couple of bed rolls an _estate_ was a little bit much, but they _did_ need to make sure there was someplace they could spend the night, at least. He didn't want to have to return to ANBU headquarters—or the hospital—because their apartment had been rented to someone else and they hadn't bothered to check.

"Harii!"

The teen turned just in time to catch an orange and yellow bundle of six-year-old. He grunted and staggered under the unexpected assault, but couldn't stop the grin that formed on his face.

Reaching out, he ruffled the boy's hair with affection. "Hey, Naruto," he greeted, grunting a little as the boy's grip tightened over his still healing ribs. "You know, I'm happy to see you, too, but could you ease up just a little? I've just been released from the hospital, you know."

The blond head tilted back, although the boy's grip didn't loosen, and bright blue eyes glowered up at him. "You didn't even tell me you were leaving!" He accused angrily, "You just disappeared! I'm not letting you go again!"

Harry pried at the boy a little, but Naruto's grip only tightened in response and the Genin let out a quiet hiss of pain. He was reluctant to be forceful with him, especially since he was clearly only reacting like this only because of how upset he'd been when he disappeared—it was nice to know that he'd been missed. Still, his bruised ribs were far from completely healed.

"Naruto, I'm not leaving again!" He yelped as the boy put pressure on a particularly tender spot on his side. "And I couldn't say goodbye—I didn't know I was going anywhere! I—" He broke off, unsure how much was too much to say. The entire outside world and everything regarding magic was meant to be secret, although Harry supposed the display the Death Eaters had put on wouldn't help that much.

"If you didn't know you were leaving, how can you be sure it won't happen again?" Naruto pressed stubbornly, holding tighter.

"Ouch! Naruto!" Harry squirmed, cringing at the added pressure on his ribs and beginning to seriously consider the use of force to remove the boy. Naruto didn't even seem to care that he was hurting him. "I'm just _sure_, okay?"

The boy opened his mouth to argue back again, but a heavy hand on his shoulder silenced him and he looked up with wide eyes until he found the smiling face of the one-eyed, white-haired man standing behind him.

"I'm sorry, Naruto-kun, but that was my fault," Kakasy said lightly, not sounding apologetic at all. "You see, I needed Harii's help on a very important, very secret mission for the Hokage. He wanted to say goodbye to you, but we couldn't let anyone know what we were doing. Hokage's orders," he added with a nod. The cardinal rule of being a Jounin—when your personal life runs into trouble, blame the Hokage.

Slowly, Naruto's wide eyes turned back to Harry and his grip loosened, just a bit. "You were really on a secret mission?" His voice was hushed with wonder.

Harry cringed. He supposed Kakashi was just trying to help, but now he was going to have to fend off questions about his _secret mission_ for weeks. "I'm not supposed to talk about it," he said grimly, pinning his brother with a dark look.

"Well… since it was from the Hokage, I guess it's okay," Naruto said reluctantly, finally releasing him, "But next time you have to say when you're going to be gone so long! I'm going to tell the old man, too. He can't just send people off like that and then pretend he doesn't know about it!"

Harry let out a sigh, relieved that Naruto didn't feel inclined to press him for details at the moment. "But if he told you, it wouldn't be a secret," he reminded the boy, tenderly feeling his ribs. They were sore, but he didn't think Naruto had really done any damage.

"Harii and I have some business to take care of," Kakashi put in, his uncovered eye smiling cheerfully down at the blond boy, "Would you like to come with us, Naruto-kun?"

The boy's eyes were bright. "Yeah!" He agreed eagerly, looking between the two shinobi, "Is it _ninja_ business?"

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "We need to go to the bank," he supplied, "But you can walk with us—and you can tell us about what's happened since we left."

Naruto's agreement was no less enthusiastic than it had been the first time, and he quickly started up a long litany of everything that he considered interesting that they had missed. Harry wondered when Naruto had become such a chatterbox—and without even ramen to ply his good humor.

He smiled—it certainly was nice to be back.

* * *

The object, Dumbledore supposed, was to make him feel like a criminal. It was working, too, although he kept his face carefully blank of his inner thoughts.

He stood in chains that weighed down his arms and legs, with a masked guard on either side of him, nearly rubbing shoulders with him. Opposite him sat four people—the Sandaime Hokage with two men on his left and one woman on his right. All of them wore disapproving expressions as they stared at him, presumably waiting for his response.

"I see," the wizard said carefully.

He had expected to be found guilty. He had expected to be imprisoned for the rest of his life—and he hadn't expected that to be all that long. He couldn't exactly say he was surprised, although he found himself slightly disappointed at the abrupt way the Hokage had sentenced him, without even a mention of any of the motives he may have had, or the honor he must have shown by coming back to them with Harry in tow.

"May I speak in my own defense?" He prompted calmly.

The Sandaime inclined his head slightly.

"Good. First, I would like to remind you that Harry was born a wizard," Dumbledore began, automatically moving to pace before he was stopped by the combination of the rattling of his chain and the restraining hand of one of his escorts. "His mother was a witch and he was born with that same gift. He's been a part of our community for his entire life, and even while he lived with you, we had always considered him one of our own."

The Sandaime's expression remained stony and unchanging, appearing completely unmoved by his appeal.

"If your warriors were stationed in another land," Dumbledore continued, "And your home was threatened, would you not call them back? And if your calls were ignored, would you not send someone to retrieve them? Our entire way of life was at stake—and many lives. Bringing Harry back was the only thing we could do to defend ourselves. I am certain you understand this."

"You are not being charged for betraying your own country, Dumbledore-san," Sarutobi interceded. Calmly, he added, "If I were in your situation, I, too, would have done whatever it took to save my people, but that is not what is at stake here. Whatever your motives were, you still stole two of _our_ people, and kept them away from the village for ten months. Nothing you say of motives and justification will be able to lift your sentence."

Dumbledore met his eyes and held his gaze for a long moment, probing with his mind, searching for a weakness in the man's will. There was none.

"… I understand," Dumbledore said slowly, "And I will willingly pay my debt to your society. However, I do have two requests."

The Sandaime said nothing.

"I would like to write back to my people," Dumbledore continued, undaunted, "So that they will understand what has happened and will not bear ill-will towards your people or Harry in the future."

Sarutobi considered for a moment before inclining his head in agreement. If the wizard's message was inappropriate, he could always prevent it from being sent.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said gratefully. He hesitated before presenting his second request. "Also… I would like to speak with Harry… alone."

The Hokage's eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked at the wizard suspiciously. "I do not believe that will be necessary."

"Please, Hokage," Dumbledore implored, "It needs only to be a short conversation, and you may keep us under surveillance… There are certain things I would still like to tell him—about his parents. Things a boy should know."

"Harii is a loyal shinobi of this village," the Sandaime said warningly, "He has shown that again in his actions since his return."

"It is not my intention to turn him against you," Dumbledore assured the other man, "He has served the purpose we required of him. If this is where Harry is happy, then I see no reason to take him away from it. There are simply a few last words I would share with him before my sentence is carried out."

The Hokage considered for a moment longer. "I will speak to Harii on the matter," he decided at last, "If he wishes to hear what you have to say, I will allow it."

Dumbledore nodded, aware that it was the best he could ask for. "Thank you."

Sarutobi looked past the man to the guard on his right. "Take the prisoner back to his cell," he ordered.

As one, the masked shinobi grabbed the old man's arms, and steered him out of the room again.

* * *

Three hours later, Kakashi was regretting his decision to invite Naruto with them on their errands. He'd left the kid with Harry while he'd spoken with their representative at the bank, but the boy still managed to give him a headache by the time they'd finished up at the storage facility their personal items had been placed in for safe-keeping while they were gone.

"Naruto," Harry interrupted the boy in the middle of his retelling of the camping trip his class had taken before winter set in, "It's getting late—you should probably head home or Hasaki-san will worry."

The six-year-old's head was raised high, and his chin tilted up just a little as he replied, haughtily, "I don't live with Hasaki-basan anymore!"

Harry blinked, and was about to ask who he lived with when the boy continued to answer his question before he could ask it.

"I have my _own_ apartment, and I live _all by myself_," he stated proudly, "I'm not a little kid anymore, Harii-niisan."

Harry wasn't sure what to say, and exchanged a quick glance with his brother—to his surprise, the man looked a little worried, as well.

"Plus," Naruto continued, oblivious to the expression worn by the two Hatake, "I'm becoming a really _awesome_ shinobi, you know! Tenzou-sensei taught me how to pick locks, and how to hide traps, _and_ he taught me this cool secret language! Wanna see?"

"Tenzou-sensei?" Harry repeated in surprise, almost choking on the name as the rest of Naruto's statement flashed through his head without his really hearing it. Beside him, Kakashi wore a look that was equal parts incredulous and amused.

"Yeah!" Naruto confirmed enthusiastically, "He owed me a favor 'cause I helped him out in the 'vestigation at your house, and so I tracked him down and made him teach me!" He nodded importantly, "Your friend's pretty smart, Harii-niisan. Guess what this means!" He proceeded to demonstrate his _secret language_ with a few quick motions of his hands that had Harry, only barely paying attention, red-faced.

"Naruto!" He chastised, "Do you know what that means?"

The little boy grinned up at him mischievously and Harry suspected he knew _exactly_ what it meant. "Isn't it cool? It really makes the Chuunin mad when I do it, and some of them look kind of like that," he pointed straight at the white-haired teen.

Kakashi chuckled and ruffled Harry's hair—the Genin was so mortified he didn't even bother protesting the childish treatment. "Come on, Harii, you can't expect him not to pick up a few bad words here and there. Besides, I warned you about Tenzou."

Harry sighed, but conceded the point. He supposed he'd heard worse from kids younger than Naruto—although they weren't usually quite so creative in the way they used their language. "I hope you don't antagonize the Chuunin too much, though," he muttered half-heartedly. He suspected now that Naruto's trouble-making streak had only grown while he was gone.

"Tenzou-sensei says they deserve it," Naruto said guiltlessly.

"Oh, does he?" Harry grumbled—he'd have to talk with Tenzou about that, because Naruto didn't really need to be _giving_ people a reason to hate him, not when most of them already had one.

"Yep!" Naruto confirmed obliviously, "And next time, he's going to teach me how to be invisible!"

Harry didn't have the heart to tell the eager little boy that even a ninja couldn't really become completely invisible. It all had to do with Genjutsu, tricks of the light, or clever disguises. Still, that was probably enough to impress an Academy student.

"Here it is," Kakashi interrupted, his words causing the younger boys to stop.

Naruto looked up at the apartment building they'd stopped in front of and his blue eyes widened. "This is _my_ building!"

"It's the one owned by the Hokage, isn't it?" Harry added. Technically, it was owned by the village, but the Hokage regulated who lived in it—mostly war orphans and widows, people who couldn't afford a regular building. Harry had never imagined _he'd_ be staying in it.

Naruto turned to stare at the teen, "You're going to live with _me_?" His voice was loud with excitement.

"Just for a few days," Kakashi said quickly, "Until we can find a place of our own."

The little boy looked even more excited as his hopes were confirmed. "Harii-niisan, come and see my room!"

"Ah—" Harry staggered a little as Naruto tugged at him, "Naruto, I think I should at least put my things away first…"


	33. Advancement

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: After thirty-three chapters of SOI, I still don't own _Naruto_ or _Harry Potter_.

Got the last chapter out by the end of the year! There's still the Epilogue, but that'll be short, and will probably be up this weekend. This chapter ties things up pretty nicely, I think, although there are still a few questions I wasn't able to explain... I actually have a sequel and a prequel more-or-less planned for this series, which should successfully explain away a few of the details I'm sure you're all wondering about--What the mysterious 'illness' Kakashi came down with in England was about; how and why the shinobi countries seem to be separated from the rest of the world; and what Sakumo did to make Voldemort hate him so much, to name a few...

Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 32! I hope you enjoy this final chapter!

Thanks, Pyrgita, for finding my misspelled name.

Chapter 33 – Advancement

Tenzou watched out of the corner of his eye as a woman dressed in the practical, off-white medic uniform walked past. He waited a few seconds, listening to her footsteps fade into silence, then turned his attention back to the boy—_man_—in front of him.

"It shouldn't be much longer now," he said quietly, "The evidence has been presented, and it shouldn't take long for the council to reach their decision."

Itachi nodded shortly, looking out of place perched on the edge of the hard cell couch in baggy, light blue clothing. He looked too young, Tenzou thought, and a little scared. He wasn't sure if the fear he thought he saw in the boy's hunched shoulders and worn face was really there or if he simply imagined it. He'd never been that great at reading others—except Harry, after all the time they spent together as kids.

"Will I get to see Sasuke, then?" Itachi asked after a moment, his voice carefully even and controlled.

"Assuming things turn out well," Tenzou replied.

The younger Chuunin's hands clenched into fists on his thighs. "I won't let them hurt him," he said softly, tone low and threatening. "If they decide to put all of us to death..."

"I know," Tenzou interrupted. He shouldn't be listening to this—the little brat shouldn't be telling him his plans to defy the Hokage's orders.

"… I don't want to hurt you," Itachi added, finally looking up at him, "If it turns out for the worst… you should leave."

Tenzou sighed—he'd suspected it would come down to that. "Itachi… if you attempt to move against the Hokage, I will be duty-bound to try and stop you." He met the boy's gaze evenly, "And I won't go easy on you."

Itachi looked away again with another short nod. "I know."

They lapsed into a silence, faint footsteps sounding in the corridor outside the cell. Another medic hurried past, this one shadowed by a young apprentice with loud, fast footfalls. Their silence held until the two were well past.

"They're going over each Uchiha's case independently," Tenzou explained to fill the silence. "If you were anybody else, the outcome would be obvious, but your father…"

"Was the clan head," Itachi supplied grimly, "Sasuke and I will naturally fall under more suspicion because of that."

Tenzou nodded in confirmation. "But the Hokage—" he cut himself off as another set of footsteps approached; then slowed.

The cell door opened with a _clank_ and light poured into the small, dim room. The man in the doorway was masked with an ANBU plate, but his eyes studied the pair closely before his gaze settled on Tenzou, Itachi kept in the fringes of his vision.

"Hokage-sama wishes to speak with you, Boar," he said gruffly.

Tenzou nodded. He didn't glance back at Itachi before he left.

* * *

Itachi sat alone in his cell quietly, thinking. The ANBU operative had been a surprisingly nice distraction from his own thoughts, but as he was gone the boy could do nothing but face them.

The accusing eyes of his best friend—his only real friend—swam in his mind and his confidence wavered. His stomach churned at the reality of what he'd done; how he'd killed members of his own family.

Flashes of the war—gruesome bodies carried past his home, children crying over dead parents, and hellish fires raging right up to their doorstep—fought against his idealism. He never wanted to live through something like that again—he didn't want his brother to go through what he'd seen. But the Uchiha way—the cycle of destruction they'd harbored for generations—could lead to nothing else.

Wasn't it, after all, their own forefather, Uchiha Madara, who had plucked out his own brother's eyes in order to become the ultimate weapon of war? It was what all of them were born to become, but Itachi firmly believed that destiny could be denied. Hadn't his own cousin, Uchiha Obito, who had given his life and his eye for an outsider, proven that?

Then he saw the angry faces of the other Uchiha he'd fought and killed, and he thought of the cousins who would be fatherless, even if they were spared from the execution, and he wondered if things wouldn't simply become worse from here.

Hatred begot hatred. The Uchiha clan had hated the village, and it had resulted in this uprising. In turn, the village was bound to hate the Uchiha more than ever. Feeling that hatred, what could they do but grow to hate them back?

Itachi's thoughts flashed to the demon boy; the child the Yondaime had sealed the Kyuubi into. That boy was also hated by the village, and Itachi had always wondered how he coped against such intense hatred.

At last, the sound of his cell door clanking open distracted him from his thoughts and Itachi glanced up—only to be tackled by a small form.

He grunted softly and looked down, lips stretching with a smile as he was met with a face full of Sasuke's hair. The younger boy's hands were clenched into the front of his shirt, and he was whimpering—"_Aniki!_"—over and over again.

Itachi looked up again to find ANBU Boar standing in the doorway watching them, eyes shadowed and deep behind his mask. He wondered whether the man had requested to bring Sasuke or whether he was simply following orders.

"Genko-san has a few more questions for you, Itachi," Boar informed him, "Sasuke-kun can wait outside the room and you can both leave when you're finished."

A relieved smile tugged gently at the young Chuunin's lips. Was it really, finally over? He reached out to tilt Sasuke's face up, to catch his eyes.

"Did you hear that, otouto?" He asked softly, "Pretty soon… this will be over."

Sasuke's smile was watery in return, and he quickly buried his face in the older boy's shirt again with a soft cry of, "Aniki!"

* * *

Harry stared at the heavy door uncertainly, his face blank. He hadn't been sure what to think when the Hokage had told him that Dumbledore wanted to speak with him. He didn't trust the wizard, and it was obvious that the Sandaime didn't, either. But it was a convicted man's last request, and it felt disrespectful not to honor it.

He could always leave if the wizard tried anything.

Taking a deep breath, Harry glanced at the ANBU stationed as guard just to the right of the door. He nodded. The masked shinobi reached out, using a brief flow of chakra to unlock the wards on the door. He pulled his hand back and Harry reached for the doorknob.

Dumbledore was sitting on the bench just inside, his large frame bent awkwardly to perch on the edge of the hard mattress. His blue eyes glanced up as Harry opened the door, and he rose to his feet when he saw who it was.

Harry frowned at him distrustfully and hesitated with the door open.

"I'm not promising to hear you out," he warned, feeling self-conscious of using English while the Black-Op was listening just outside the door. "If you try anything funny, I'm leaving."

Dumbledore nodded, shuffling back a little to give him more space. "Of course, Harry," he said gently, "I only want to talk with you. There are a few things I've left unsaid between us."

Slowly, Harry nodded, and shut the door firmly behind him. He could feel the warmth against his back as the wards were raised into place again.

"The first thing I want to tell you about," Dumbledore said at length, when it became obvious Harry wasn't planning on moving any closer to him or beginning the conversation, "Is about your parents, and the inheritance they have left you."

Harry frowned uncomfortably. "I'm a Hatake," he reminded the wizard, "My inheritance is the same as my brother's—"

Shaking his head, Dumbledore interrupted. "I am not trying to make light of the family you've found here, Harry," he said, "When I brought you here, I had hoped that you would create new ties with the family we'd found for you. You and your brother have become closer than we can tell, I imagine."

Harry pressed his lips together unhappily and nodded for the man to continue.

"But despite your heritage here in Konoha," the wizard continued, "It remains true that you also have a heritage in England. Your mother loved you very much, Harry, and James Potter treated you as his own flesh and blood. They both sacrificed their lives for you, which must show you just how much they cared."

Harry forced himself not to respond. It was hard to imagine a man and a woman he didn't remember loving him; his own father hadn't even known he existed, and while he liked to imagine that the White Fang would have loved him had the situation been different and they had met, he could never say for sure. Sensei and Kushina and Kakashi had loved him, in their own ways, and that was all that Harry believed in.

"You were their only child," Dumbledore explained, "And as such, you have inherited their entire estate." He smiled ruefully, "I'm afraid the property they left for you was ravaged by Voldemort the night he attacked, but you have a vault in Gringott's Bank with more money than I'm sure you'll ever need, should you choose to one day return to the wizarding world."

"I won't," Harry assured him quickly.

The man's eyes twinkled with amusement, "Who can say what the future will bring, Harry? If nothing else, you may want books to continue your studies on your own; you will certainly have no trouble obtaining them. The key to your vault is in my office, and you need only ask for it to be given to you."

Harry nodded shortly, although he doubted he would ever return to England for any reason.

"There is one other thing," Dumbledore added, "Left by your father. It, too, is locked away safely in my office. If you return for no other reason, I hope you will return to retrieve it."

Harry said nothing, although his curiosity was peaked.

"It is a cloak," Dumbledore continued, "James loaned it to me shortly before his death, but I know he would want you to have it, Harry."

"A cloak," Harry repeated dryly.

The wizard quirked a smile. "An _invisibility_ cloak," he expanded, "When you put it over yourself, you will be completely invisible to the naked eye; much like the wizards who fought your village a few days ago."

Harry's interest was instantly rekindled—even the releasing technique hadn't made those wizards visible; a cloak that could do the same would be invaluable.

"Although," Dumbledore added, "This cloak, I believe, is even more effective. It has been said that this particular cloak is able to hide its master from Death himself."

Harry frowned in thought, struggling for a moment to understand what the wizard was saying. His eyes widened as the meaning struck him. "The Shinigami?" He asked in disbelief, "The cloak is invisible to the Shinigami?" The possibilities were overwhelming, and too complex for him to comprehend. If the Yondaime had had a cloak like that, could he have fooled Death and survived the sealing?

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed with a smile, "So you can see why it might be useful to return. I have sent a letter ahead of you, explaining what has happened, and that those back home should not place blame on you for my death. I have reaped what I have sown, and you have saved us again."

Harry considered carefully. "I can't get back, though," he argued, "Kakashi said there was… a barrier."

Dumbledore nodded knowingly, "Yes, it is a barrier of sorts. A magical separation keeping this place apart from the rest of the world. I have seen it, and you are quite correct… no one could pass through that barrier without losing his mind. The magic is very old and very complex; the only way to travel between here and England is by use of magic more advanced than you were taught."

"But your Phoenix was able to get through," Harry recalled, "Could it bring the cloak to me?"

"I have something better in mind," Dumbledore said. "Among my personal effects was a small coin. You remember, Harry; I used it to bring us across the border in the first place."

Harry nodded, recalling the silver pendant he'd seen the man use. "I remember."

"It is a Portkey," Dumbledore supplied, "Like the one in the scroll that originally brought you to Hogwarts. However, unlike that one, this one is spelled for multiple uses. It is connected to the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts. You press the tip of your wand onto the face of the coin bearing the magic wand and intone the enchantment _Tripudium_, and you will instantly be taken to Hogwarts."

"If you press your wand to the other face, and recite the enchantment _Repedo Tripudium_, it will take you back to where you began from," Dumbledore explained, "In my case, I had last used that Portkey to transport back to Hogwarts after bringing you to the Hokage, and so that is where it returned us to."

Harry nodded his understanding. "_Tripudium_ to go to Hogwarts, and _Repedo Tripudium_ to return to where I left from," he repeated, committing the words to memory.

Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction, and the expression on his face was fond and proud. "Yes, Harry. I think you will find the wizarding world has much to offer you, even if you choose to remain as a ninja here. And the wizarding world _is_ in your debt, so do not feel afraid to ask of it."

Harry frowned. "I don't want anything to do with the wizarding world," he reaffirmed, "_If_ I return, it will be for the memory of my dead father, and to respect his wishes that I carry something of his with me."

"If that is what you think is best," Dumbledore said gently. "Now, Harry, there is one final thing I would like to say to you. If you would carry the invisibility cloak in the memory of your dead father, perhaps there is something you would carry in memory of me."

Harry scowled. "I'm not sure I _want_ to remember you," he said coldly.

"Then take it as a trophy," Dumbledore said, his expression closing. "Regardless of the spirit in which you accept it, I am giving my wand to you."

"I have a wand," Harry reminded him. He wasn't particularly thrilled about having the one, and he certainly didn't want another. "I've never heard of anyone having two."

"My wand is a special wand," Dumbledore explained grimly, "You have perhaps heard of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald."

Harry had, and he nodded.

"I won ownership of his wand when I defeated him," Dumbledore said, "It's a very particular and very powerful wand, I have found, and unlike ordinary wands, it is able to pass between owners in the case that it is given or won in a duel. It has been used for countless centuries by men of greed and cruelty, but I hope you will use it for better."

"I don't need a powerful wand," Harry said obstinately, "I'm a shinobi—I use jutsu, not magic. Now that all of this is over, I hope I never have to use a stupid _wand_ again."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said mildly, "But nevertheless, I leave it to you. At the very least, you should take it and keep it somewhere safe. I'm afraid your Hokage won't understand how to properly protect it."

"… If he'll give it to me, I'll keep it safe," Harry allowed reluctantly.

"Good," Dumbledore nodded, "Then that is all that I have to say, unless there is something further you wish to ask me about."

Harry hesitated in silence, awkwardly considering his words and everything he'd ever wanted to say to this wizard who'd stole him from the only home he had and tried to force him to fight another people's war.

At last, he shook his head. He understood a little better, now, what the wizards had been up against. He could never forgive him, but he wouldn't spit bitter words at a condemned man. Harry liked to think he was above that.

* * *

"When is Harii-niisan going to be back?"

Kakashi shot the boy an irritated look over the cover of his book. "Did I know the answer the last time you asked?"

The small blond head shook, spikes of hair flying around his head and a frown on his lips.

"My answer won't change even if you ask me a dozen times," Kakashi supplied with an irritated grunt. "Why don't you go back to your room and I'll point him there when he gets back."

Naruto glowered up at him. "You're not as nice as Harii-niisan," he said unhappily, "Are you really his brother?"

"Will you stop pestering me if I say no?" Kakashi was certain the brat had inherited more of his mother's personality than his father's, and he suddenly felt just a bit guilty for encouraging Harry to spend time with him.

"No," Naruto answered blithely, "Do you want to see the new Jutsu I made up?"

"No," Kakashi mimicked in return, "I'm busy, you know."

"You're just reading a stupid book," Naruto dismissed, scowling at the brightly colored cover in the man's hands. "What's it about, anyway?"

For a moment, Kakashi considered telling him and, with any luck, traumatizing him a little with the raunchy details. But Harry would probably kill him for it, and Sensei's spirit—or Kushina's, more likely—would probably haunt him from the dead. It just wasn't worth it.

"Why don't you run down to the doors and see if Harii's back yet," he suggested.

The little boy shrugged, "Daisume-san doesn't like me to stand around in the entry. It's okay, though, I'll just wait with you—even if you _are_ mean."

Kakashi peered across at him unhappily, "How old _are_ you, anyway?"

Naruto puffed up his chest importantly and grinned as he answered, "I'm _six_ years old! And pretty soon—pretty soon I'll be graduating from the Academy and I'll be a _real ninja_!"

"Maybe if you acted your age you'd be one already," Kakashi grumbled, because the kid was really _way_ too hyper to be a six-year-old, "Harii was never this annoying." Perhaps it had helped that his brother hadn't even been able to talk to him for a good half a year, and even then his vocabulary had been very limited.

"If you keep being mean, I'm telling Harii-niisan and he'll kick you out!" Naruto threatened, glaring at the man.

Kakashi rolled his eyes. "_I'm_ the one who pays for our apartment," he grumbled, "If anyone kicks anyone out, it'll be me kicking _him_ out."

The blue eyes brightened abruptly. "Yeah!" He exclaimed eagerly, "You should kick Harii-niisan out, and then he can move in with me!"

Kakashi was saved from responding to the ridiculous proposition by the door opening. Naruto promptly forgot all about him and was bounding across to greet the newcomer.

"Harii-niisan!" He belted out enthusiastically, clutching the young teen.

Harry smiled and ruffled the boy's hair, his mind still on the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore. "What are you doing here, Naruto?" He started, then noticed his brother and his eyebrows rose with surprise, "Kakashi-niisan—I thought you were going to—uh—headquarters."

"He let me in," Naruto supplied, pointing at the man, "But then he started being mean to me, so you shouldn't live with him anymore!"

"What?" Harry asked in confusion, looking down at the blond boy tugging at his clothes.

Kakashi sighed heavily and shut his book, shoving it away in a vest pocket. "Your little brat has been irritating me for the last hour and a half while you were gone," he supplied, "He was waiting outside the door when I came back and slipped inside before I could stop him—he's as slippery as a frog."

Naruto tugged at the teen's shirt again, looking up at him meaningfully, "I just wanted to see you again! I had to make sure you were really still here!"

Harry looked between them again before settling his gaze on the six-year-old with a small, bemused frown. "Don't you have class today?"

Naruto let go of him and shuffled his feet guiltily.

Harry sighed and ruffled the boy's unruly spikes again. "It's alright, Naruto… but I'm really not going anywhere, and if you miss school too much then you'll never become a shinobi!"

"Yeah, yeah… but they never teach anything fun, anyways," the little boy grumbled.

"That still doesn't explain why you're home," Harry added, looking across at his brother with a small frown, "They didn't have any missions for you?"

The man shifted slightly in his seat and pulled out his book again, his lone eye holding an irritated glaze to it as he snapped the book open. "My presence wasn't requested for assignment," he said sharply, "They wanted to give me my official dismissal and allow me to collect my personal effects."

"Oh…" Harry said awkwardly, "I'm sorry."

Kakashi shrugged, "I was coming up on my next psychological evaluation, anyway, and those things are always horrible. Better to get out now. Besides, I'll have more time to catch up on my reading—Jiraiya-sama released a new volume while we were gone."

"Great," Harry agreed dryly, letting the subject drop.

* * *

"Are you staying in my building forever?" Naruto asked hopefully, his attention distracted from the target and focused more on the teen watching him.

"Just until we have our new assignments," Harry supplied, "You need to focus, Naruto."

"I _am_ focused!" The little boy protested, returning his eyes to the target and aiming for his next shot. "But maybe… you _could_ stay in my building," he added, "We could be neighbors and you could help me train all of the time…"

"Pretty soon I'll start going on missions again," Harry put in, "And we can't stay in that building because other people who can't afford anyplace else might need our room." He frowned at the boy and added, "Besides, you don't seem to be able to focus when I help you train."

"I'm focused!" Naruto yelped, hastily returning his attention to the target and letting his kunai fly—it missed the tree he was aiming at by almost a foot and glanced off a tree behind it, falling to the ground with a _thump_.

Face burning with embarrassment, the six-year-old chanced an anxious look at the Genin and smiled nervously.

Harry rolled his eyes and walked across to the boy, pulling out one of his own kunai on the way. "First," he told Naruto, positioning himself right beside the Academy Student, "Like I said before, you need to _focus_. We can talk later, but when you have a weapon in your hand, the only thing you should be concentrating on is your target." His dark green eyes narrowed in on the tree they were using.

"Make sure you bend your legs a little, for balance," he added, "And follow through with your throw all of the way. If you're focused, you'll be able to tell what went wrong with your aim and correct it a little next time. You threw too far to the left, so next time you need to aim just a little to the right."

Attention glued to the target, Harry let his kunai fly. It raced through the air, straight and deadly, and sunk deep into the trunk of the tree. He turned to Naruto with a smirk. "See? It's all about focus, Naruto."

"I _am_ focused," Naruto grumbled in protest before pulling out another kunai to try again. "I just think you should keep being my neighbor."

Harry sighed and shook his head with exasperation but didn't respond. He took a few steps back and waited silently for Naruto's next try, taking in his stance and movements with critical eyes. He had poor form, Harry could tell that, but he wasn't sure what to say that he hadn't already that would help the boy. It was one thing to know the right way to do it, but another thing entirely to be able to explain it to someone else—maybe he'd see if he could convince Kakashi to help.

This time, Naruto's kunai hit the tree he was aiming at, the dulled blade scoring against the bark before falling to the ground. The boy's face lit up with a large grin and he looked back at Harry excitedly.

"I did it!" He shouted, "Did you see?"

"I saw, Naruto," Harry assured him with an amused smile, "Do you understand why you need to concentrate, now?"

"Yeah, 'cause I hit the tree!" Naruto crowed enthusiastically, "Do you want to see it again? I bet I can hit it ten times in a row! I'm going to be such an awesome shinobi!" He turned and fired another kunai at the tree—this one was wide on the right side and soared back into the underbrush beyond it.

"_Focus_, Naruto," Harry chastised gently—he wondered if it was even worth the reminder; Naruto just wasn't mature enough to focus well, he'd grow into it, probably.

"Harii," the teen turned and smiled as his brother stepped casually into the clearing behind them. Naruto turned, as well, and a jealous pout quickly formed on his lips.

"What do _you_ want?" The little boy asked rudely, "You aren't taking him away again!"

Kakashi ignored him, "The Hokage wants to see us in his office."

Harry nodded his understanding. "Sorry, Naruto, but we're going to have to finish this later," he said, walking across to retrieve his kunai, "Just keep practicing and I'm sure you'll get better."

"You promised to spend the day with me," the boy complained, trailing after him mournfully while casting a dirty look back at Kakashi.

Harry couldn't hide the smile on his face as he pulled his kunai free from the tree—he recalled similar conversations with his brother when he was young, but he'd quickly learned that as a shinobi, Kakashi could be called away at any time and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

"I'm a shinobi," he explained as he pocketed his kunai, "When the Hokage demands my presence for something, it isn't an order I can question." He walked past the boy towards his brother, then paused, looking back. "And, Naruto… even if we don't live in the same building, you're always welcome to visit or see if I'm around to do something with you. If I can, I will."

He didn't miss the lightening of the boy's expression before he turned and left with his brother.

* * *

"After an extensive review of your reports, and testimonies from Saboshi Koture, Nakkon Hamura, and Hatake Kakashi, it is my honor to bestow upon you the rank of Chuunin, with the responsibilities and benefits that accompany the title of a loyal shinobi of Konohagakure," The Sandaime Hokage said formally, his expression aged and serious. "Do you accept?"

Harry was only momentarily speechless. "I do," he managed after an awkward moment of silence. He bowed self-consciously, "I will serve my village and my Hokage to the best of my ability."

"I am certain you will." The Sandaime said sagely. He picked up the brush on his desk and with slow, methodical movements, dipped the tip in a pool of ink before affixing his signature on a blank strip of scroll. Allowing it a moment to dry, the Hokage closed the scroll and stood, walking around the desk to present it to the newly promoted Chuunin personally.

"This is your certificate of rank," he explained, "You will need to carry it with you until you obtain your uniform. You are required to wear the Chuunin uniform while on duty for the first phase of your service. You will report to the mission desk tomorrow at 0900 to obtain your new squad assignment. Do you understand the requirements I have given you?"

Harry nodded stiffly, fighting the urge to smile—he'd been working for years to get to this point. "I understand, Hokage-sama."

The Sandaime nodded and held out his hand—Harry took it and the elder shinobi gave it a solid shake, a small smile playing on his lips. "Congratulations, Hatake Harii."

With the formalities out of the way, Harry gave into the need to grin. "Thank you, Hokage-sama," he glanced back at his brother, "You recommended me?"

"Your performance under the circumstances of the last year was more than adequate for promotion," the Jounin said with a casual shrug.

"I can't believe I finally made it," Harry said, he turned back to the Hokage, "Are Migaki and Inaho Chuunin now, too?"

"I'm afraid the others on your Genin team have not yet proven themselves ready for an advanced rank," the Sandaime supplied.

Harry's immediate thought was about how jealous his teammates would be to learn of his promotion, but he squashed it before he could voice it—it didn't seem like the sort of petty thought a Chuunin should have. He felt another thrill of accomplishment at that; he was really a Chuunin, after everything that had come between him and his chances at advancement in the past.

* * *

Harry watched silently from the branches as the three boys shouted below him, tearing the grass apart as they attempted to kill the family of moles that had obviously moved into the park while he was gone.

He couldn't help the spike of jealousy he felt, as an unfamiliar red-haired boy said something to Inaho, which made the brunet laugh loudly and punch him in the arm. Even Migaki smiled where he stood with a pike in the ground.

They'd replaced him, and while he'd spent the last year wishing he was back with them, they had completely forgotten about him. At the very least, they didn't seem to miss him.

Shaking his head, he retreated from the clearing underneath him, waiting until he was safely away and could drop to the ground unnoticed.

"Harii."

Almost unnoticed. Cringing, Harry turned slowly, feeling self-conscious of the scroll strapped across his back.

"Sensei…"

"Not anymore," the man said gruffly. A small smile touched his lips at the teen's disappointed expression. He gestured towards the boy, "I heard you were promoted."

Harry smiled in relief. "Yeah," he confirmed, "It was just earlier today, I'm surprised you found out already."

"Of course I found out," Hitsuya said, laughing, "You don't think a Genin is promoted to Chuunin without even interviewing his old teachers, do you?"

Harry flushed, hand running through his hair, "I guess I didn't think of that. Thanks."

"From what I've heard, you deserve it. You've had an interesting year, Harii." Hitsuya said, "When do you meet your new team?"

Harry shrugged, "Tomorrow."

Hitsuya glanced back in the direction of his students. "Visit us sometime," he invited, "When you don't feel the need to hide in the trees. Migaki and Inaho would like to see you again."

Harry raised an eyebrow, staring at him dryly.

The man rolled his eyes. "Yes, we took on another teammate while you were gone," he said with exasperation, "Kurotsu has been on our team for almost eight months, and Migaki and Inaho eventually embraced the reality that things wouldn't be returning to normal, even if you did come back. That doesn't mean they've forgotten about you, Harii, you were with them for two years, and I doubt they'll ever trust Kurotsu as much as they did you." His face folded into a disgruntled frown, "The boy's something of a prankster, unfortunately."

"Mm," Harry grunted with disinterest, although he did feel somewhat reassured. He'd always known it was likely he had been replaced, and it wasn't fair for him to expect his teammates to ostracize his replacement.

"They've heard that you're back," Hitsuya added, "I'm sure they'll manage to track you down soon, and then you'll end up being the one to explain why you didn't try to see them."

"I'm busy today," Harry lied, because he still couldn't quite get over the perceived betrayal of his teammates—he needed time to think. "Maybe I'll try coming back tomorrow when I'm done with my new team."

"You know where to find us," Hitsuya grunted, and turned to return to his team. Harry quickly headed out in the opposite direction.

* * *

He took the long way through the village, turning up side roads and doubling back on himself periodically. He knew he shouldn't be angry with his teammates—his friends—but it felt like when he'd first returned, like the entire village had simply gone on without him.

Naruto had missed him, at least, but Harry hadn't even seen Tenzou, yet. He wondered if his old best friend even knew that he was back. He wondered if, like his teammates, Tenzou had found someone to replace him.

He forced the thought from his head, because he was being petty and childish and not at all like the Chuunin that he was. As a shinobi, he didn't really need friends, anyway. He was a tool of the village.

His feet slowed to a stop and Harry glanced around, surprised at where his feet had taken him. The Uchiha Complex stood to his right, looking large and empty and imposing. It was weird, and a little creepy, like a ghost town in the middle of the village.

Harry blinked in surprise as he watched a form emerge from the locked gates, sealing them behind himself. The uniform defined him as ANBU, but there was something familiar, and it wasn't until he turned down the road away from Harry that he realized what it was.

"Tenzou!" He blurted in surprise.

The ANBU paused and turned towards him—a second later, Harry wheeled around as the older teen appeared behind him.

"I'm called Boar," he said—and the voice confirmed Harry's suspicion.

"What are you doing out here?" Harry asked, "And when did you join ANBU?"

"You're not even supposed to know who I am," the ANBU said in annoyance.

"You weren't in ANBU even before I left, were you?" Harry pressed.

Behind the mask, brown eyes rolled. "Keep your voice down, at least," he grumbled, "I only joined a few months ago, and I'm on duty, so you can't go around calling my name."

Harry shot an unimpressed look at the empty Uchiha Complex. "You're guarding an abandoned estate?"

"…It's not exactly—"

"Boar-san!" The voice came from behind the walls, and Harry looked back to see the lock disengaging again. He looked across at Tenzou in astonishment before looking back—the last he'd heard, all of the Uchiha were under punitive measures. A small boy emerged from the door and was running towards them. He heard the ANBU sigh.

"Sasuke-kun, you're supposed to stay inside," he admonished.

The little boy didn't even spare a glance for Harry. "I know that," he said, sounding insulted that the shinobi might think he didn't, "But I'm an Academy student, and I need to stay in shape! Is it okay if we at least use the training grounds out back?"

Tenzou ran a hand through his hair, shooting Harry an exasperated look before turning back to the boy. "If Itachi is with you, it's close enough that you'll be fine," he assured him, "But you can't run out here until everything's cleared up, Sasuke."

Before the six-year-old could defend his actions further, his brother slipped out of the door after him.

"I'm sorry, Boar-san," he apologized quickly, "He got away from me."

"Just keep a closer eye on him," Tenzou said with annoyance, "I need to report back."

The boy nodded, "I will." He faltered as he looked at Harry, a frown crossing his face. "You're Hatake Harii."

Stiffly, Harry nodded—this was the brat he'd spent the last several years trying to prove himself against. He looked even younger up close.

"I'm Itachi; we were supposed to fight in the Chuunin exams last year," Itachi supplied.

"I know who you are," Harry ground out, "I was looking forward to our match."

"As was I," the boy agreed with a short nod, "The Hatake clan has an impressive history."

Harry looked at him in surprise, a little taken aback by the genuine respect he heard in the boy's voice. Their father's failure in the field and subsequent suicide had left a black mark on their family name, and Harry had never heard anyone other than his brother, Sensei, or Kushina speak well of their clan. To hear praise from his biggest rival was not something he'd ever expected—especially with the hostility the Uchiha clan had always shown his brother and him.

"Aniki," Sasuke was tugging on his brother's sleeve, "Boar-san said we could go."

Itachi glanced down at the younger boy momentarily before looking back up at Harry. "It seems we're going to have to wait a while longer for our fight."

Harry nodded mechanically. "I look forward to it."

Together, the two Uchiha boys headed back to the estate gates, leaving Harry with Tenzou once more. Harry looked back at his friend, still taken aback by the confrontation.

"Uchiha Itachi knows who I am," he murmured distractedly.

"He's not such an annoying kid once you get to know him," the ANBU supplied with a shrug.

* * *

Kakashi rifled through his bag swiftly, throwing out expired ration bars and stained medical supplies while Harry scurried around their tiny apartment to find replacements.

"I was thinking we'd get an apartment in Sector 3 for a change," the man supplied, repacking his bag with fresh supplies, "I've already made a down payment, you just need to finalize some paperwork and move us over."

Harry nodded. "I can handle it," he assured his brother.

"I told the Hokage we'd be out by the end of the week," Kakashi added, "So you'll need to tell him if it'll take longer."

"We're aren't due for a mission until tomorrow or the day after," Harry said, "We're supposed to take some time to integrate together as a team. I can get it done before we leave."

Kakashi nodded and tightened the straps on his bag. "There." He stood and hefted it to his shoulder. "I'm leaving."

Harry nodded, hesitated a moment, and called out to him before the man reached the door. "What about Naruto?"

Kakashi paused, looking back at him, "What about him?"

"He's only six!" Harry exclaimed, "We can't let him just live on his own, can we? Niisan, he's _Sensei's_ son!"

"… I know who he is," Kakashi said softly after a long moment. He didn't continue immediately, and the silence stretched for nearly a minute. "I don't want him living with us, if that's what you're suggesting."

Harry's expression darkened. "Kakashi! That's not fair! Sensei took us in when no one else would have—and Naruto's just a kid! You can't hold it against him for what happened!"

Kakashi looked at him sharply. "I'm not a kid, _otouto_," he stressed with irritation, "I'm not that petty. _Naruto _is under twenty-four hour surveillance, which means whoever he lives with is under twenty-four hour surveillance. The Hokage is willing to wave the surveillance if he lives with us, but we aren't around enough to give him the protection he would need."

Harry faltered, "You… spoke with the Hokage about it?"

"Do you think I like the idea of Sensei's six-year-old son living on his own?" Kakashi asked with irritation, "There are too many security compromises; either you and I or the boy would be in danger in a combined living situation. We have too many enemies to leave our apartment unprotected while we're gone, and Naruto would need his usual surveillance, which means the wards would have to be lowered."

He shook his head and turned back towards the door. "I have to go—my team will leave without me if I'm late."

"… I'll take care of everything while you're gone," Harry assured him awkwardly, "Be safe."

"It's not like I've never fought in a war before," Kakashi shrugged, and slipped out of the door.


	34. Epilogue

Sphere of Influence

_R. Winters_

Disclaimer: Short chapter, but I still don't own _Harry Potter_… or _Naruto_.

Here it is: the very last bit of SOI. I've enjoyed writing this story, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, shared opinions and anecdotes with me, and encouraged me to continue throughout this process. Like I said, the epilogue is short, but I really felt like I needed to include _something_ about the wizarding world here at the end without having it be something huge that would detract from the 'ending' of the last chapter… It still leaves questions, of course, but those are for the sequel (or prequel) to answer. (See the end of this chapter.)

Because some of you are counting… Recall that the Tom Riddle Diary, Marvalo Gaunt's Ring/Resurrection Stone were both destroyed by Kakashi. Nagini as a Horcrux (assuming, indeed, it was) wouldn't have been created yet. Harry as a Horcrux (assuming he was)… well, you'll have to wait until the sequel to see if I do anything with that. That leaves Slytherin's Locket, Ravenclaws Diadem, and Hufflepuff's Cup… well, everything to do with those is more or less implied, and since it doesn't have a large bearing on the story, I don't want to go into it with further detail. Hope you enjoy it!

Epilogue

He pushed the double doors opened wide and strode purposefully through them, his lanky form tall and proud. Narrowed, gray eyes gazed suspiciously around the room before he advanced on the nearest teller, stalking towards the small goblin with a dangerous expression on his filthy, unshaven face.

As he approached, he pulled his identification from his pocket and spoke in a loud, official voice. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he announced importantly, "Aurors Division. I'm afraid I'm going to have to have a look in one of your vaults."

Behind him, the double doors swung open again. First through were a pair of squabbling children, the bushy-haired brunette attempting to clean some of the red-head's freckled face with a stained handkerchief—"You could at least _try_ to look presentable when we're in public, Ron!" The girl chastised.

The ragged man that walked behind them sighed before pulling the two apart. "Thank you, Hermione, but that's enough," he said tiredly, "Ronald, do you have the potion?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's in my pocket," the boy confirmed, reaching into his pocket. His face paled and he felt around a little more desperately.

"Really, Ron," Hermione sighed from Lupin's other side and reached across to dip her hand in the other pocket in his robes. She removed a small vial of wicked red liquid and held it up for the man to take.

"I knew it was in _one_ of my pockets," Ron grumbled.

Smiling at Hermione, Lupin took the vial and took a moment to locate the fourth member of their party. "Sirius!" He called out, waving to the man.

"… Gringott's vaults are opened for _no one_ except the _legal owner_ of the vault," the goblin snapped, peering at Sirius and the others hurrying to catch up to him suspiciously.

"Yeah, but it's _important_," Sirius stressed, his ID flapping around a little as he gestured with his hands. He leaned closer to the goblin and lowered his voice, "Listen, you—there's a suspected piece of _very dark_ magic hidden inside one of your vaults right now, and if we don't destroy it, word is going to get out and no one with a smudge of decency will ever bank with you again."

The goblin's craggy face didn't change expressions at all, his little black eyes dull with disbelief. "Really?" He asked dryly, "I don't think you understand, Mr.… Black. There is _nothing_ that could possibly be in our vaults that would make us even _consider_ bending the rules like that for you."

Sirius glanced around—Lupin and the two third-years were right behind him now, looking somber and embarrassed in turns. He leaned closer and grabbed the goblin's frilly collar, pulling him up until there was barely a breath of air between their two faces, his ID still held firmly in his other hand.

"It's a Horcrux," he hissed, eyes dark with anger, "And it doesn't belong to just _anyone_—it's _You-Know-Who's_."

It was difficult to tell if the squirming goblin's face had paled because of his announcement or if it was simply because Sirius was cutting off the blood supply to his head. With a dirty look, the Auror dropped the goblin back onto his stool.

"Do you really want everyone to know that _Gringott's_ is the reason He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still out there?" Sirius demanded softly.

The ruffled looking goblin took a moment to smooth down his collar—his hands shook just slightly as he did so, and the color hadn't returned to his face.

Finally, he looked up. "A… _Horcrux_, you say?" His voice was just a touch higher than it had been before, although his tone was hushed, and his beady little eyes glancing about nervously. "What vault… did you say?"

Sirius's leering grin was toothy as he supplied, "Lestrange."

* * *

It sounds like most people are more interested in the sequel than the prequel, so that's probably what I'll focus on first. If you have an opinion on which you'd rather see, let me know.

Extending the Boundaries – this is the sequel. It picks up about three years after this story leaves off… I've been working on fleshing out the plot, so I think I have an enjoyable storyline with more surprises for you. ETB will focus on Harry and his student, I think, although the other characters that have been staples throughout the series will, of course, play large parts, as well.

A Social Exchange – this is the prequel. It takes place around the time Sarutobi becomes the Sandaime. This one focuses on Sakumo, the Nidaime, and one Mr. Riddle, taking place mostly in the world at large. I've got a good idea what I want to do with this, and it should fill in a lot of holes in your understanding of how the two worlds connect and what that mysterious back story that I've hinted at is.

Either way, I'll update SOI one last time when I finally start posting the sequel/prequel. It won't be until June at the earliest, because there'll be a few months, at least, that I won't have access to my computer and I'm not entirely sure how much time I'll have to work on this right away...


	35. Preview

Extending the Boundaries

_R. Winters_

Life's gotten pretty busy over the last year, and fanfiction has almost dropped out of it completely. But since I do have this ready, and since I realize so many people have been looking forward to reading this, I'm going to give this story my best shot. That being said, the sequel, entitled _"Extending the Boundaries"_ now has the first chapter up and ready to read. Hope to see you over there, and hope you enjoy this peak at things to come (you won't see it anywhere else!)...

_Preview..._

"It's just not fair," the boy complained, sulking with his arms folded across his chest and a stubborn pout on his lips that even the tempting aroma of ramen couldn't chase away. "You were supposed to be _my_ sensei," he continued unhappily, "Next year, _you_ were supposed to get your promotion and _I_ was supposed to graduate, and then _you_ would be my teacher."

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Naruto…" He sighed.

The ten-year-old glowered up at him with dark blue eyes. "So what's this _other_ kid like?" He demanded, "Is he as great a ninja as _I_ am? I bet he isn't—he probably doesn't even deserve your attention."

"Firstly," Harry interceded sharply, "Genin teams are decided on by the Hokage, Naruto. I didn't choose my own student, Sandaime-sama assigned him to me. Secondly, people with close relationships usually aren't put on a team together—even if I was promoted and you were graduated at the same time, the Hokage wouldn't have assigned your training to me. And, finally, he is a very talented young man who has a strong desire to learn and very good _focus_."

Naruto huffed and stuffed a mouthful of noodles in his mouth. Around the mouthful, he accused, "You don't like me anymore."

"I can tell you right now, Naruto, if I didn't like you, I wouldn't be buying you ramen," Harry said with exasperation, "You eat more than anyone I know."

The boy hardly looked mollified. He slurped down a mouthful of noodles and looked up at the teen sullenly, "So when do I get to meet him, if he's so great?"

Harry blinked, then shrugged. "I'm sure you'll run into him sometime."

"Harii-sensei!"

The teen nearly choked on his noodles when he heard Lee's anxious voice. He spun around on his stool, wide eyes roving the after-work crowds until he found the boy running towards them, dodging and apologizing to people as he came. Beside Harry, Naruto had turned around, as well, and was watching the newcomer with narrowed eyes.

"Lee-kun, what's wrong?" Harry asked in confusion when the boy stopped in front of him, panting.

"I know you said we would talk about this tomorrow," the boy blurted, sounding a little out of breath as he straightened, "But I was just trying to think about it and I could not figure something out."

Harry's concern dropped and he allowed himself to relax a little, exasperation leaking into his countenance. "What about?"

"I was just—" Lee stopped himself abruptly, eyes suddenly locking on the small blond peering at him suspiciously from next to his teacher. "Ah… actually, sensei, I think I should wait until our meeting tomorrow."

Harry glanced at Naruto, and then back at Lee. "Is it important?"

The boy rubbed the back of his head, awkwardly looking from the younger blond to the teenager. "It is not… incredibly important, sensei… I guess that it can wait until the morning."

"Lee, I can go with you now if you need me."

Naruto's mouth opened before Lee's could even begin to, and the boy rounded on the teenager with wide, angry blue eyes. "What?" He demanded irately, "You just got here and now you're going to leave me for _him_?"

"Naruto," Harry started with exasperation, "He's my student, if he needs help, I'm going to help him. We can pick this back up later."

"It is alright, Harii-sensei," Lee quickly interceded, "It is not so important for me to interrupt your dinner. I can ask you about it in the morning."

"You're sure?" Harry pressed, trying to ignore the vindictive-looking Naruto standing beside him, glaring threateningly at his student.

Lee nodded, "I am sure, sensei." He didn't move to leave, still looking at Naruto.

Harry looked between the two once, then sighed. "Lee, this is Uzumaki Naruto," he introduced, "Naruto, this is my student, Rock Lee."

If anything, Naruto's glare became even more hostile. "Harii-niisan has been friends with _me_ my whole life," he stated, somehow making the delivery sound like a challenge.

"Be nice, Naruto," Harry ordered, smiling at his student apologetically, "Would you like to join us, Lee?"

Lee looked warily from the angry blond to the young man before smiling brightly. "I would love to, Harii-sensei!"

"I want another ramen!" Naruto bellowed, clambering back onto his stool as the black-haired boy made to sit on Harry's open side.

Harry was sure that this was the beginning of the end for him.


End file.
